On My Way Home
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: CONCLUDED ON JANUARY 25TH! After Doom is disbanded, the three bikers struggle to find each other once again, but it's not easy. ::Multichapter fic!:: Not Yaoi, friendship cuteness, slight spoiler warnings. Kind reviews welcome!
1. Prologue: Nightmares

**Yu-Gi-Oh!**

**On My Way Home**

**By LuckyLadybug**

**Notes: The characters (except Sandy and Holly) are not mine, the story is, and friendship cuteness will abound! There are mild spoilers for the Doom saga. You have been warned! ****I apologize for the removal of the songs, but the new policy has forced me to remove them.**

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**Prologue**

_The girl with the honey-colored hair and dancing brown eyes looked up at him as she had many times before. "It's the only way!" she insisted, clutching the piece of paper tightly in her hand. "If we don't get this to him, a whole lot more people are probably gonna die! He needs to know what we found out about the ambush. And you obviously can't come along. You've got a little brother to watch after." She looked at him sternly. "And you know I'd never forgive you if you came with me anyway and then he got hurt!" Then, softer, she added, "Of course . . . you wouldn't forgive yourself, either." She gazed into the depths of his gray eyes. They had been friends for years, literally as long as they could both remember. Perhaps, in some locked part of her heart, she kept the secret that she loved him. But outwardly she showed none of that. After all, she thought to herself, why ruin a perfectly beautiful friendship?_

_He frowned, brushing the deep red bangs out of his eyes. "This isn't some kind of a game, Holly!" he scolded. "Didn't you just hear the bombs going off? It sounded like it was only a mile or so away. Every day they're getting closer! You can't just run out there and expect that you'll be safe." He didn't think he was being overprotective of his childhood friend in the least. Already he had watched first her parents and then his own die in this senseless war. His innocence had been taken from him long ago. He knew it wasn't likely that any of the rest of them would stay alive very long, either, but he didn't want to see someone he cared about deeply just throwing her life away._

_"I've gone out there plenty of times!" she retorted, hiding the paper away in the sleeve of her shirt. "Just stand here and wait for me. I'm going to be right back." She looked down into the small valley below before looking back up at him and then hugging him tightly. "Don't worry yourself sick, okay?"_

_He blinked in surprise and then returned the hug before letting her go. "Remember, you promised," he said sternly._

_She smiled and winked characteristically before running down the hill that led into the valley. He watched her go until he could barely see her any more. Then she dived into the brush and he knew she was approaching the location where her elder brother's military troupe was. For several moments more he watched and waited, growing more impatient with every passing moment. But at last he saw her again and he perked up, watching her run stealthily across the grass and under trees. Maybe she would make it. . . . _

_The machine gun fire was deafening. He jumped a mile when he first heard it. The next moments all were a blur. The only thing he recalled clearly was seeing his best friend fall to the ground with a gasp, blood pooling around her. She was dead._

The gray eyes snapped open abruptly, their owner breathing heavily. Slowly he raised himself up from the hotel bed, running his hands through his magenta hair as his vision adjusted to the dim light of the room around him. _It was just a dream,_ he told himself as he rubbed his eyes and threw the comforter quilt back. And yet he knew that even though it was a dream now, once it had been reality. He had truly lost his friend in the past, during the treacherous war that had eventually claimed the lives of all whom he held dear.

Sometimes he blamed himself for it. He should either have insisted that she not go at all or that he should go with her, he often thought. But then there was the possibility that he would have died with her, leaving Miruko all alone. And so the conclusion he always came to was that he couldn't have done any differently. But that never seemed to completely ease the guilt he often felt. He clenched his fist tightly, almost drawing blood. He would never stand by and watch someone else he cared about to die, he vowed.

Now he limped over to the window and looked out at the sprawling city. For most everyone, life was going on as it always had. He could see people in their cars, frantically driving to work in determination. Others were walking, staring ahead firmly as if trying to convince themselves that nothing was going to get them down. They all seemed to have their purposes in life. He had his as well. He had two close friends to find.

It seemed hopeless, really. They could be anywhere. And what were the chances that they were looking for him in return? Well . . . maybe Raphael was. He seemed to care. Alister could almost believe that Raphael thought of him and Valon both as his surrogate family. But Valon he wasn't so sure about. It was hard for him to believe that the feisty Australian really cared about anyone other than himself . . . except maybe Mai. Alister was certain he was the person Valon cared least about. But though the brunette's ways were often foreign and confusing to Alister, and though Alister often got irritated with him, he was still going to look for him.

He glanced idly at the small calender on the nightstand. It had already been three weeks since he had regained consciousness in a strange hospital, his soul having been restored to his body after the horrors of Doom and the Orichalcos were over. Since then, he had made virtually no progress in his quest. Actually, when he thought about it, he really didn't know that Valon and Raphael had also returned or if they were even alive. Maybe there was no one for him to look for. It might all be pointless.

And why was he looking for them? He sometimes asked this of himself. Oftentimes he wasn't sure of the answer. But he had known Raphael and Valon for so long. . . . They were really all that he had. None of them had anywhere to go—no family to return home to, no house at all, no jobs. Or at least . . . Alister supposed this was the case. Maybe the others had managed to settle down somewhere. Though, it was hard to picture Valon doing so. He was too restless and impatient.

Alister sank back into the soft bed with a sigh. If the others were still alive, and were interested, maybe they could all stay together. That was what Alister was hoping. He had always acted detached and emotionless around them, but the truth—though he himself hadn't realized it at first—was that he wanted to be with them. They were the only semblance of family he had now. If they would welcome him back, as he was certain at least Raphael would do, then he wouldn't have to be alone. He hated being alone. . . .

Oh, he tried to pretend it was what he wanted. He had lost so many people he loved that he just didn't want to suffer the pain of losing anyone else. He wasn't sure Valon or Raphael even realized he cared about them. And he had told himself that it was best that way. If they didn't get close to him, then maybe they wouldn't die as well. Maybe he wouldn't have to feel that anyone else's blood was on his hands.

He fell back asleep shortly after this, again haunted by the ghosts of the past—and of his heart.

_

* * *

_

_He was standing alone in a dense fog. Around him on the ground, a horrible, sticky substance was pooling. He knew it was blood. Off in the distance he heard a cruel laugh. A familiar cruel laugh. And he clenched the crowbar in his hand tightly, feeling his blood going chill at the sound of it. He hated that laugh and the man it belonged to._

_"What's going on!" he yelled finally, finding his voice. He took a step forward and grimaced as the blood splashed around. "Why are you here? And who's hurt!" But he soon saw the two bodies laying still on the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds. A gasp escaped his lips. He knew them both. They were his friends. . . . His only friends. . . . His surrogate family. . . ._

_"Oh, they're more than hurt," came the softly accented, smooth voice. "You should know—after all, you killed them."_

_The blue eyes widened. "NO!" he screamed. "I didn't!" He gripped the crowbar furiously, suddenly realizing that there was blood dripping off of it and to the ground. The crimson substance was also coating his hands. And in that moment, he knew that he was, indeed, guilty._

_"Yes you did!" came the uncaring voice again. "You know you did it."_

_He dropped the crowbar, falling to his knees in the spilled blood. "YOU'RE WRONG!" he screamed, fire burning in his eyes. He wouldn't have done this! "You did this! You were always using us for your own purposes! And now you're getting rid of us because we're not any good to you anymore!"_

_"It's your own fault. You couldn't control your temper."_

_"I DIDN'T DO THIS!"_

_His voice echoed forlornly off the buildings' tops and throughout the dark alley. They were both dead. He shook them frantically, but there was no response. Blood dripped from their fatal wounds, staining his hands red, but he paid no attention. In a panic he tried a crude attempt at CPR. They couldn't be dead . . . no. . . . He wouldn't have done this to them . . . never! He would never hurt either of them! They were like his family. He would do anything to protect them._

_Suddenly he felt a stabbing pain as a dagger plunged into his back. "I'll spare you the pain of going on without them," the voice hissed. "Since you seem to care about them so much, you can join them in Hell!"_

"THAT'S WHERE _YOU_ BELONG!"

Raphael started awake, realizing he had been screaming out loud. And as luck would have it, he was riding a crowded bus. Everyone was turning to look at him in confusion. His expression darkened as he gazed back and then turned away to face the window. It was only a dream. He wouldn't let it bother him. He knew he wouldn't ever hurt Alister or Valon. But . . . he knew who would . . . who had. Who had hurt all of them. . . .

He hated Dartz. He had trusted and looked up to him the most of the three, whereas Valon didn't care one way or the other and Alister didn't trust him—just as he didn't trust anybody. But for Raphael, Dartz was a genius, someone who knew exactly how to fix the world's problems. But Dartz had betrayed him. He had betrayed all of them. Dartz had caused all of their misfortunes just so that he could get them angry at the world and want a change. He had murdered their loved ones and then blamed it on others to get them to join forces with him. And Raphael didn't think he could ever forgive him for that.

He clenched his fists. Both Alister and Valon had eventually fallen to the Orichalcos. Dartz hadn't cared. And he hadn't cared when Raphael attacked him in anger, either. He was not the enigmatic figure Raphael had believed he was. He didn't care who he sacrificed in order to obtain his goals.

When their spirits had been held captive by the Seal, the three bikers had been able to talk once more. In some ways, that experience had helped them grow closer. But since he had returned to his body, Raphael had found no trace of the other two. Valon was no longer at the beachhouse where Raphael had left him. Raphael supposed that Valon had wandered off again, searching for some meaning in life. Since the beachhouse had most likely been empty when Valon regained consciousness, he had probably seen no point in staying around. Valon hated staying anywhere when he couldn't see the point.

The blonde man sighed to himself. He had looked all throughout the nearby vicinity and in the nearest town, but to no avail. And knowing Valon, it was highly probable that he'd gotten himself into some frustrating mess or another. Several people Raphael had asked had seen someone matching Valon's description, but none of them had known where he was going. Any possible leads always wound up at a dead-end.

Finding Alister was even harder, if that was possible. But Raphael had no idea at all where the redhead had even been. He hadn't even known that Alister had fallen to the Orichalcos until Dartz had told him so. He had called several hospitals in Florida and other states, but none of them had on record anyone who even vaguely resembled his friend. It all seemed so hopeless!

But still, Raphael vowed that no matter how long it took, he would find his friends. If they were still alive to be found. . . . Surely they would be! Raphael was simply too pessimistic sometimes. But when he was having such trouble locating any trace of them, he couldn't help but wonder. Valon could have gotten into an accident with his motorcycle. With the dangerous stunts he often did, it was highly possible. Raphael and even Alister had scolded Valon that one day he could crash and burn and not recover from it. But of course Valon didn't listen.

And Alister . . . Alister could have somehow been killed as well. He was a skilled driver, but there were motorcycle accidents every day. One didn't have to be a novice or outrageously reckless to get into one. Raphael had heard about a motorbike colliding with a truck just the past day. The biker had been killed. Raphael couldn't help wondering if it was one of his friends who had died, but he made up his mind not to dwell on it. He wouldn't consider them dead without seeing it for himself.

And so his search would continue.

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* * *

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_He entered the room, battered and bruised from a recent fight, and called out a greeting—but he only received cold stares in reply. Frowning, he tried again. But both Alister and Raphael were looking disgusted, and that wasn't usual, even though they were often exasperated with him._

_"Hey," he said hesitantly, stepping forward, "what's wrong?"_

_Alister shoved him back. "We've had enough," he growled. "Neither of us like you."_

_"We're tired of your nonsense," Raphael added, grabbing him harshly. "You've been nothing but trouble ever since you first nosed into our lives. Now look at yourself—you've gotten into another fight!"_

_"Now whoever you were fighting will come here again, wanting to get even," Alister said in frustration. "You always bring your_

_problems home with you!"_

_He struggled to free himself from Raphael's grasp, the shock and the sorrow more overwhelming than he'd ever thought it would be. He wasn't wanted? Again he was being rejected, as he had been so many times in the past? It wasn't that he didn't expect it would happen again, but he hadn't thought that Alister and Raphael would turn him away. He had thought they were actually different. It looked like that had been a mistake._

_"We want you to go," Alister snapped._

_Raphael threw him to the floor. "And there's someone else who's disappointed in you," he announced._

_He looked up as another shadow fell over him and then gasped. He recognized the woman who was standing before him—but he didn't recognize the dark look of hatred he was being given. "Mother Mary?" he cried in disbelief._

_"You've been fighting again!" the nun accused, her voice loud and sharp and very uncharacteristic. "You know that is not God's will!" She slapped him cruelly. "Why can't you ever make something of yourself? You are a worthless orphan with nowhere to belong! And now you've put your long-suffering friends in danger!"_

_"We're not his friends," Raphael said coldly as he and Alister joined in with striking him, echoing Mary's words. Again and again they punched and kicked at him, not allowing him to get away._

_He cried out, defending himself, but then felt a harsh blow from Raphael send him into unconsciousness._

_"You're worthless!"_

Valon yelled, flailing about as he felt hands grip his shoulders and shake him. "Stop it! Leave me alone!" He tried to kick out, but he only hit air. He didn't realize that tears were trailing down his face. He hated the feelings of worthlessness. He hated them so much. . . . And what was worse, they didn't go away. He had thought power was what would make him feel good. And for a while, it had. But that was over now and he was back to feeling useless. He was alone, rejected again.

"Valon! Wake up! It's Sandy!"

Blue eyes flew open in confusion. Valon breathed heavily, gazing up at the worried young woman. Then his mind cleared and he knew he had been dreaming. He hadn't been rejected by his friends and surrogate mother. He wasn't being beaten to death by those he cared about. Instead he was in the trailer park belonging to the traveling motorcycle stunt artists whose ranks he had joined. Sandy, another of the stunt artists, had been trying to wake him up.

"Are you alright?" Sandy exclaimed. "You sounded really distressed!" She brushed a lock of strawberry blonde hair away from her face, studying him.

Valon sat up slowly. "It was nothin'," he replied. "Just a bad dream." He chuckled weakly. "I must've got one of those bad pickles you warned me about when I was gettin' a snack."

Sandy sat on the chair. "You were dreaming about your loved ones again?" she asked softly. Valon had told her how he was having nightmares about Mary and the other two bikers attacking him. This was only the latest incident of many. Valon often felt that he had nowhere to belong and that no one really cared about him. This came out in his dreams. Sandy, who had a growing crush on the young Australian, wished that she could do something to ease his pain. He had joined the stunt artists in the first place because he wanted to find a couple of friends, he had told her, and he had thought this was a good way to look for them while having fun at the same time. But Sandy was certain that Valon was not having fun.

Valon smiled sadly. "Yeah," he admitted. "But it's just a dream. . . ." It was, wasn't it? Alister and Raphael didn't hate him, did they? Well . . . of course, he really didn't think Alister liked him. But the redhead had tolerated him at least. And Raphael always seemed to get along with the both of them. He was the perfect elder brother figure/peacemaker. Valon could easily imagine that Raphael was looking for them, though he wasn't sure about Alister. Maybe Alister would be relieved to be rid of them. He always seemed to like solitude. . . .

"Your friends care about you, Valon," Sandy said at last, though she was talking of more than just Alister and Raphael. "I know they do."

"You haven't even met them," Valon objected, leaning against the bedpost.

"Well, yeah, but . . . why wouldn't they care about you?" Sandy said with a frown. "You're a good, decent person."

Valon laughed hollowly. "I probably cause them more trouble than anything else," he remarked. The only person he had ever been certain had cared was Mary, the nun, and he didn't have her anymore either. Everyone else had abandoned him at some point. Except for Alister and Raphael. . . . But how did Valon know that he hadn't been abandoned now? They might not be looking for him. And why was he even looking for them? He wasn't supposed to care about anyone besides himself. But here he was, searching desperately all over the country for the other two former Doom soldiers who had been his closest companions for so long.

"Don't think like that," Sandy pleaded earnestly. "I'm sure they're worried sick about you! I would be, if . . . someone I cared about was missing." She looked down as she spoke. She had been about to say "if you were missing," but had changed her mind. She and Valon hadn't known each other for very long. And while she was certain he wasn't interested in striking up a romance, she wanted to be his friend at least.

Valon smiled a bit. "You're a good girl, Sandy," he said quietly. It comforted him a bit that she was trying to cheer him up, but that didn't take the empty feelings away. Even here, among these other bikers who enjoyed daredevil stunts, he didn't feel that he really belonged. It was strange, he thought, that the one place where he felt at home was with two people who were barely like him at all. But all he wanted was to find them again.

* * *

Three lost souls who each are desperate in his own way to have acceptance and to be with those who will care about him. Will their paths cross again? And if so, will everything be as they've hoped? It will be their quests that we will follow in the next pages. And perhaps, we will have learned something valuable by the time we come to the tale's end. Perhaps our friends will have as well. 


	2. Anywhere Is

**Notes: 1: I have determined that Raphael is 24. True, he perhaps looks a bit younger than 12 (more like 10) when he was stranded on the island, but by the time he leaves he looks to be about 15 or so, and he was on the island for 3 years, at least according to my information. Don't like the way I've figured things? Tough. Deal with it. And if it's really 5 years that he was on the island (as I heard somewhere), then he must have been 10 when he was first stranded. 2: Hilda is my character too. In fact, let's say everyone is my character except any that are obviously recognizable as canon characters (in this story, canon characters would be Alister, Raphael, Valon, Miruko, Alister's and Miruko's mother, Raphael's parents and siblings, Mary the nun, and Dartz).**

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**Chapter One**

Alister prepared to be out of the hotel room as soon as morning dawned. There was no point in staying any longer than was necessary. After all, he certainly wasn't on any sort of vacation. And he had barely slept through the night. When he had finally managed to go to sleep again after the nightmare of remembering Holly's death, he had dreamed about going back home and finding everything in ruins, still unrepaired from the war's damage. In the middle of the debris where his home had once stood had been the bodies of five people—his mother, Miruko, Holly . . . and Valon and Raphael. They had all been dead. And Alister had sunk to his knees, realizing that he had nothing left in the world and no one who would care about him. Everyone who did care had been laying dead at his feet. That had been when he had woken up. After that he hadn't even tried to go back to sleep. He didn't see the point anyway, as he was waking up less refreshed than when he laid down in the first place.

He sighed, turning to glance idly in the mirror before he would go downstairs to pay the bill and leave. He saw only a sad, lonely young man of twenty staring back at him, dressed in dark jeans and a tight-fitting tank top. There was no place for him to go, so he wandered about from city to city in search of a family he wasn't sure he had. He had some money that had been saved up since he had been with Doom, which was good when he needed to travel about, but what was money to him? He cared nothing for things of monetary value.

In the mirror, he could also see the window reflected—and the storm clouds outside. Frowning, he reached for his trenchcoat and pulled it around him. He hated getting stuck in the rain. It reminded him too much of lonely days during the war. When it had rained then, blood had been washed down the broken streets and gutters. He clenched his fists tightly at the unwelcome memories. Some of the blood might have even been his mother's. He remembered when he had found out that she had been on the bus that had been bombed. The war had been so horrible, resulting in so many orphans and in so much innocent lost. It was no wonder that he had bought into the false idealism of Doom. He had hoped that he could rid the world of wars. But it was not meant to be.

With a low growl he picked up his dark duffel bag and headed out of the room, shutting the door hard behind him. He felt like he was closing the door on another failed attempt to find the place where he belonged. And when he thought of it, wasn't he really being idealistic again? Here he was, actually thinking that he could find two specific people somewhere in this extremely large nation. But for all he knew, they weren't there at all. They could have both gone back to their native lands. And even though Alister had money, he didn't think he had enough to allow himself to travel overseas to both of those lands.

Valon was from Australia. That was obvious the moment he opened his mouth to speak. Not only did he have the thick accent, but many of his expressions and idioms were indigenous to Australia alone. Sometimes he completely startled and confused Alister with some of the strange things he said. Actually, his entire open personality bewildered the silent redhead.

Raphael, on the other hand, was from France, though he spoke without any trace of an accent. Alister supposed that the long years of isolation on the island had erased any accent that he might have once had. Raphael was easy to understand, both in words and actions. At least, Alister found him easier to understand than Valon. Sometimes Raphael had confused him too, such as when he always seemed so willing to accept both Alister and Valon and considered them as more than mere associates. Alister couldn't figure out how Raphael had managed to always be so accepting.

He rubbed his eyes as he got in the elevator. He was thinking about them both again. Would it ever stop? He had the feeling that it would not, unless he could find them once more. Even if he refused to admit just how much he needed them, he knew he did. They were his only friends in this world. Right now, they were the only living people he truly cared about. Narrowing his eyes, he pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and slowly put them on.

* * *

The streets were dark and virtually empty. Alister passed only a handful of people as he trudged along, the duffel bag hoisted over his left shoulder. Most sane people weren't out of bed yet, he thought to himself with a smirk, remembering how Valon used to make similar complaints at times when they had been forced to get up early to accomplish one thing or another for Dartz. _But I guess . . . I'm not really sane. Look at this ridiculous quest I'm on._

He stopped at the corner to buy a local newspaper and then sat at an outdoor café to look it over. Every day it was the same—he would look over the daily events and try to find ones that seemed like possibilities where he might find Valon or Raphael. Then he would go about to them all, searching desperately and hopelessly. None of his attempts ever came to fruition.

He traveled daily into new towns and cities in his search, every now and then stopping to ask someone if they'd seen his friends and then describe them. He only asked people that he thought might actually have had occasion to meet up with one or the other. For instance, upon seeing a motorcycle gang engaged in doing dangerous stunts, he had paused to find out if any of them had seen Valon. They hadn't. But still he didn't give up. There were so many places he hadn't checked yet. He had barely scratched the surface. Even just going to the areas where he knew Doom had been once or where they had been planning to go was taking a lot of time. It could take him several months before he would be able to look in all of those locations and see if possibly the other two were at any of them. He wasn't holding out much hope that by the end of it all he would have found his friends.

Today was beginning like any other day. Alister had no reason to believe that it would turn out any different. With a sigh and a sip of the cherry 7-Up he had purchased from a vending machine, he turned the page of the newspaper. Now he was looking at the advice column. Some poor fool was asking for help in their love life, he observed before boredly turning the page again. Well, maybe if they'd stayed out of love in the first place, they wouldn't be having a problem, Alister thought sardonically to himself. His heart was closed to romance. It seemed like a waste of time to him, and that it was only for the idealistic. And it seemed to almost always end in tragedy anyway, so what was the point? Why not sidestep it altogether and avoid the pain? Alister was tired of pain. He didn't want to do anything that could lead to more of it.

Actually, though, he realized, he already was. There was the chance that Raphael and Valon wouldn't want him back. He was taking a chance on pain already by assuming that maybe they would be looking for him and that they would care. He clenched his fist. _I'm no better than the romantic fool,_ he thought to himself. _I'm looking for friends that I'm not sure I even have._

That was when something crashed into him from the side. He let out a startled exclamation at the disturbance before looking down to see what had caused it. To his shock, a small boy was clutching at his trenchcoat in an almost frantic manner.

"What's the matter?" Alister asked, his voice instantly softening. Innocent children always gained access to the part of his heart that he normally kept closed to everyone else. Slowly he lowered his shades to look into the child's eyes, feeling that the boy deserved to completely be able to see who he was conversing with.

"I'm lost," the boy said matter-of-factly, staring at Alister with wide turquoise eyes. He blinked from behind a vast array of ruffled black hair, still clutching at Alister's coat. It seemed to the redhead that the boy acted as though he were running from something that was pursuing him. Alister wondered if that were so, and if it was, what exactly _was_ pursuing the child.

Alister gave him a slight wry smile. "That's a coincidence," he remarked. "I'm lost too." He spoke to the child intelligently, as if he considered the boy to be on the same mental level he himself was. When he had been a child himself, what he had hated almost more than anything was when adults would speak to him in "baby talk" or tried to say that his thoughts and views were completely pointless. His mother had never treated him that way, and he made it a point to never treat children that way either.

The boy shifted weight, continuing to look up at him. He couldn't have been more than four. "I can't find my family and two awful men want to get me!" he declared, promptly climbing into Alister's lap. Despite his experience, he was still trusting and adored most people. And Alister seemed harmless to him. "Why are you lost, mister?" he asked. "I thought grown-up people didn't get lost."

Alister sighed sadly. "That," he declared, "is very much untrue. Grown-ups get lost as well. And I can't find my family either." _I can't believe I just said that. _But he was momentarily unconcerned with his own problems. "Tell me about these men who are after you," he requested.

The boy bit his lip. "They said that Mommy will pay a lot to get me back if they take me," he said then, still confused over the whole matter. He had just been out at the park with his au pair when the two men had appeared, hurt the woman, and had tried to take him prisoner. He had been running ever since. "And Diana got hurt. I don't know if she's even okay!"

Alister's eyes narrowed. A kidnapping for ransom? That was never a good thing. He was about to ask the child if he knew his full name and who Diana was when he felt a strong hand gripping his shoulder unpleasantly. Instantly he was on the alert as he turned, holding the boy protectively in his arms. He found himself facing two cold, stern-faced men who had muscular builds reminiscent of Raphael's. The child cried out in fear and clung to Alister frantically. And Alister suddenly had the feeling that this day was not going to be like all of the others.

* * *

Raphael entered the lobby of a fancy restaurant, lost deep in thought. He certainly didn't expect that he would find either Alister or Valon in there. Neither one would have the money or desire to come to a place such as this. And Raphael really didn't either. But he was here anyway, for old times' sake. His family had oftentimes come to restaurants just like this one to eat. Raphael didn't know exactly how he had come to pass through the revolving front door or what he would do now that he was inside, but he stayed to the side, choosing to watch the people at their tables and booths and allowing himself to indulge in memories of the past. He would go back outside in a moment, but for now he was content to remain. There was something nostalgic about it.

As people passed by him, some coming in and others going out, they regarded him with looks that he knew all too well. They obviously thought he was some kind of hooligan as he stood with arms crossed over a broad, muscular chest that was covered by a dark, sleeveless shirt. His purple trenchcoat flowed around him, the belts and straps going in all directions. Black pants with boots and two small, circular earrings in his left ear completed the "punk" look. None of the well-to-do people he saw in this establishment would ever dream that he had been a wealthy child once upon a time—nor could they possibly imagine the depth of his soul and that what he desired the most right now was to find two other people whom they would consider as nothing but who were the world to Raphael. They would never understand. Depressed suddenly, Raphael turned to go. He didn't belong here.

"Hey, you there! Wait a minute."

Raphael froze, hearing the voice from behind him in the dining area. As he turned around to see who was calling to him, he knew he recognized that voice. And when he picked out Hilda coming through the crowds, he found that he wasn't surprised. It had been years since he had seen her last, but still she hadn't seemed to age a day. She looked as young and vibrant as ever—and socially successful as well.

Hilda was his distant cousin—distant in more ways than one. As children they had played together, but often Hilda would wind up wanting to pretend that she was the hostess of a fancy ball and that Raphael was her faithful servant. He had always balked at that game, though he had actually sometimes liked being with her. There was another side to her, one that wasn't seen very often because Hilda's parents had already been raising their daughter at that age to want a grand social life and to expect nothing less. Raphael never really understood any of it. Though he was from a wealthy family, he had never looked down his nose at anyone who was from a lesser social class. Neither did his siblings or their parents. But most of their relations were different. Hilda and her family were prime examples.

The last time he had seen his cousin had been right after he had been rescued from the desert island. He had just turned sixteen and had started to grow extremely bitter towards all of "civilization," which, he claimed, wasn't really civilized at all. As a result of his rebellion and his heartache over his loss, he had taken to dressing in a punk sort of way that his parents most likely would have never approved of. Hilda hadn't approved either, but for a much different reason. As she had put it, it would cast a bad social light on her if anyone knew that such a "hoodlum" was her cousin. She hadn't shown any kind of happiness or relief that Raphael had returned alive. In fact, she had flatly told him that unless he stopped being so negative about life and started dressing like he belonged in a wealthy family, she wouldn't acknowledge that they even knew each other. Raphael had only been too happy to end their acquaintance.

The young woman stopped in front of him now and looked up, frowning thoughtfully. "You have to be Raphael," she remarked in her aristocratic voice. "You haven't changed much, it seems." She stepped back, her carefully styled auburn hair framing her face. "And do you remember me?"

Raphael growled. "I remember you declaring that I was no longer your relation," he retorted. Why was Hilda talking to him? He didn't understand. He gave her a searching gaze. She still had the same uppity, detached expression that she had worn the last time he had seen her, which had been eight years ago now. In her hand she held a glass of champagne and she looked for all the world like the hostess she had so often pretended to be as a child. She was three years younger than Raphael's own twenty-four years, but she tried so hard to act like she was so much older that Raphael found it almost pitiable.

"That was a long time ago," Hilda replied, setting the glass down. "Your taste in clothing hasn't improved much, but I noticed that you were here and I was hoping that you were coming to embrace your family legacy." She crossed her arms over the tight-fitting strapless gown she was wearing. Raphael frowned, not thinking that much of her taste in clothing either.

"This," the blonde man retorted, "is not my family's legacy." He gestured around at the ostentatious designs on the walls, woodwork, and pillars and at the people who were all looking at him in horror and at Hilda in awe. They probably thought she was standing up to this "criminal," he thought sarcastically. And he was certain that this would all be a waste of his time. He wanted to be on his way, not argue with someone who had disowned him as a family member.

Hilda frowned. "Your entire family was a very important part of the social scene internationally," she accused, "but you turned your back on everything they worked hard for and became a bitter hooligan after you were rescued from that island. My father offered you everything you could ever want—fame, fortune, the chance to live in a spacious mansion just like the one you had before—and you rejected all of it!"

Raphael was getting angry. He was not in the mood for this discussion to come out of the blue. What right did Hilda have to stand here and announce that he had turned his back on his family? He had loved his family with all of his heart. But Hilda's family didn't care about him. He knew that the only reason her father had offered to take him in was because he thought it would look very bad for him socially if he did not, since Raphael was his nephew. And Raphael had decided that he would rather roam the streets instead of living where he knew no one loved him. That mansion would not have been like the one that had been his home, because there had been no love within its walls. And Raphael wanted to feel cared about, not as if he was a device being used by others for their purposes.

"Look," he said finally, "this isn't the place to be having this conversation. In fact, let's not have it at all. I have better things to do with my time." He looked at Hilda coldly. "I'm sorry that you feel that way about me, but you've never been willing to listen to my side of things. And instead of explaining, I'd rather get back to what I was doing. I'm sure you'd rather get back to your associates. They'll be wondering why you're talking to the riff-raff." He moved to walk around her and out the door. She made no move to stop him.

* * *

When he was outside again, he leaned against the wall of the building and looked up at the clouded skies. A storm was on its way. But it seemed appropriate to him—a storm to go along with the clouded and frustrated feelings in his heart. 

He sighed, crossing his arms. One of the main reasons he had been so disgusted with civilization when he had been rescued was that so many people were selfish and greedy. He hadn't really observed it well enough when he was younger, but now he could see it clearly. So often they were motivated by their own purposes and not because they wanted to do anything to help other people. It was no wonder there was so much crime and so many murders being committed, Raphael often thought to himself. Frankly, he still didn't think that civilization was all that it was cracked up to be. He would be content just to stay away from most all of it, with his surrogate family as his only companions. If he ever found them again. . . .

"Raphael?"

He started and turned to look. To his amazement, Hilda was standing there, her mink wrap hastily thrown around her bare shoulders and sincerity in her eyes. She reached out, gently touching his arm.

"Let's give each other a second chance, alright?" she said softly. "After all, we are cousins. We used to play together all the time when we were younger." She paused, struggling with the words she wanted to say. "I want to understand, Raphael," she said at last. "Please . . . give me the benefit of a doubt and try to explain your feelings to me." And for a split second, Raphael saw in her again the child that he had once enjoyed being around. He hadn't wanted things to change between the two of them when they had been such close childhood friends, but it had. It was foolish, he thought later, but a slight hope was kindled in his heart at this moment. Maybe Hilda would be different. Maybe there was still a part of that child within her. But that still didn't mean that Raphael would instantly open his heart to her.

"It would take a while for me to be able to trust you again," he said finally. "You rejected me when what I needed most was for someone to truly and honestly care about me." He straightened up, clenching his fists. It had hurt when she had pushed him away eight years ago. It had hurt more than he ever thought it would. But she had been his last hope then, when he knew his parents and siblings had been killed and he had visited their graves. He had thought maybe, possibly, his cousin would still care about him. But she hadn't.

Hilda looked down. "I know," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, Raphael. We used to be good friends. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did."

Raphael grunted. "Well . . . that's a start," he said, half sarcastically.

* * *

Valon crossed his arms, leaning against his yellow motorcycle as he watched Sandy practicing her stunts out on the course that all of the bikers used. He had just been practicing before Sandy had taken her turn, and now as he observed, he could see that Sandy seemed to be trying to imitate some of his moves. He frowned slightly, not certain what to think about that. Even he acknowledged that some of the stunts he did were quite dangerous. It had taken him a lot of practice to be able to do them properly. But he shrugged to himself, deciding that Sandy would be able to handle it. She had been here for several years, after all, and she hadn't gotten into an accident yet. 

A sharp footfall behind the Australian alerted him that someone else—most likely Michael, Sandy's beau—was approaching. But he didn't bother to turn and see. If Michael or whoever it was wanted to talk, he was more than welcome to begin the conversation. Valon wasn't in the mood to do so. He was brooding, which he found himself doing a lot more of these days than he had for a long time.

"She's doing your stunts. Did you notice?"

The voice was cold and rough. Valon recognized it as Michael's. "Yeah," he said, sitting on his motorcycle now, "I noticed."

"She thinks the sun rises and sets on you." Michael threw a toothpick into the dust, looking disgusted. "But I don't see what's so special. You wouldn't even be here if you had those precious friends you're trying to find."

Valon grunted. "Oh, I dunno about that, mate," he retorted, leaning on the handlebars. Maybe Alister and Raphael wouldn't want him around, just as their imaginary counterparts in his nightmares didn't. Maybe he should just stay here to save himself from being rejected again. But still, something in his heart told him that he wanted to find them and that he shouldn't give up hope. And yet he argued that it was impossible to give up something that he had never possessed. There was not much point in having hope, he thought. It wasn't something one could depend on. He could only depend on himself. Hope was a crutch, a crystal crutch that usually shattered, the shards digging deep into the victim's heart.

Michael crossed his arms, looking at Valon darkly. "You're a strange one. Sometimes you act like you couldn't care less about anyone or anything. But yet you claim you're on a quest to find two of your friends. And then there's your whole personality. Sometimes you're so friendly I can't believe it. Other times you act cold and distant, like you are now."

Valon shrugged. He didn't really like Michael, so he didn't see much reason to be open and friendly around him. But Sandy, on the other hand, was a kind, gentle person and a good listener, so Valon often talked with her. Valon had a feeling that this was what Michael was referring to—and that he didn't like it.

"Let's just get one thing straight, Aussie," Michael said icily. "I know Sandy likes you, but she's my girl. And if anything happens to her, I'm going to hold you responsible for it." He nodded to where Sandy was finishing her practice with a combination of a stunt she'd created and one that Valon often used. "You won't like it if that happens."

"I also don't like being threatened," Valon retorted.

As Sandy removed her helmet and came over, both men stopped talking and looked up. Sandy blinked at them, sensing that they had been discussing something of a serious nature. "What's going on?" she asked, looking from one to the other. "What were you two talking about?"

Michael gave her a quick kiss as he walked by. "Just men's stuff," he replied.

Sandy frowned, watching him go. "Was he telling you to make sure I don't do something dangerous?" she asked Valon, crossing her arms. She felt that Michael was too overprotective of her. When they were both part of a motorcycle stunt gang, of course they'd be doing dangerous things. And it wasn't lost on her that he had a jealous streak. She knew that if he thought Valon was encouraging her crush, he would make life a living Hades for the Australian.

"Something like that," Valon told her with a light shrug. He didn't see any need to tell her all the details. He certainly wasn't encouraging her in anything. If she got hurt, Valon wouldn't feel as though it was his fault. He would be distressed, however. Sandy was a good friend and he liked her, though he didn't have any romantic feelings for her.

Sandy sighed, shaking her head. "If he didn't want his girlfriend doing dangerous things, he shouldn't have hooked up with one who likes the same things he does," she remarked, inviting herself to sit on Valon's motorcycle with him. She leaned on his shoulder slightly, placing her hands on it and looking up at him after resting her chin on the backs of her hands.

"I noticed you kinda copied some of my stunts," Valon said after a moment of silence. He was letting Sandy lean against him, as they had already established that they were only friends and that there could never be anything else between them. Sandy was already taken and so was Valon, in a way. Mai had his heart, though he knew she didn't love him in the same way. It was a vicious cycle, really. He loved Mai, Sandy seemed to have a crush on him, and Michael loved Sandy—or at least, considered her "his." None of them could really seem to be able to have the person they each wanted.

"Yeah," Sandy admitted. "Well, I mean . . . you have the best stunts, so I figured, why not? I try to add my own twists and all, but I guess it's pretty obvious that I got the original from you." She paused. "Where did you learn to do that kind of stuff anyway, Valon?"

Valon sighed, remembering Doom. Every one of the Orichalcos soldiers had been granted a motorcycle. Most of them became adept at doing strange and dangerous feats in the course of their assignments. He, Alister, and Raphael often had flown their motorcycles out of the cargo hold of their airplane and down onto the island where the Doom headquarters was. Valon had always enjoyed the exercise, and sometimes had tried to get the other two bikers to race him to the temple, but they had never humored him.

"Valon?"

He was startled out of his thoughts, recalling the question at hand. He hadn't told Sandy anything about Doom, and he really didn't want to, so at last he simply said that he had learned from an organization that he had been with. There was no need for Sandy to know about Doom or what its purposes had been.

Sandy nodded slowly, but looked understandably puzzled. "What kind of organization?" she asked. "There aren't very many that would teach stuff like we do."

Valon shook his head, standing up. "I'd rather not talk about it," he said quietly, walking off into the cover of the grove of trees that was nearby. Sandy frowned in confusion, watching him go but making no move to stop him.

When the Australian was certain that he was alone, he laid down in the grass and stared up at the leafy foliage that mostly blocked out the cloudy sky. It was all so puzzling, he decided—Doom, and what it had brought about. He might never have met Alister or Raphael if Dartz hadn't decided that they would be perfect soldiers for him. But they had all had those who were special to them whom Dartz had taken away. Idly Valon wondered if Dartz had realized that his soldiers would wind up forming a close bond with each other. _Probably not. And he probably would've been ticked if he'd realized. Heck, I didn't even realize it myself . . . until I found that I didn't have either of them with me._ He felt more lonely without them than he had ever imagined he would.

And it didn't seem to be doing any good to be with the stunt artists while he was searching. Maybe, Valon thought, it was time to leave them and move on. It would be better for Sandy, certainly. She wouldn't have to worry about Michael getting jealous or about having Valon around when she knew she couldn't have him. And Valon decided it would be better for him as well. Slowly he sat up, determination in his blue eyes.


	3. Somewhere I Belong

**Chapter Two**

Alister glared coldly at the men as they attempted to box him in. But he didn't intend to stand for that. He stood up, pushing the small, circular table back, and held tightly onto the child who had come to him for refuge. "Can I help you?" he asked frostily, anticipating their response.

"Yeah," the first one declared, watching him. Alister couldn't help but notice the pale scar on his cheek, but it didn't surprise him. People of these sorts were always getting into trouble that left scars—both physically and mentally. "You can give us the brat you're holding." He made a move forward, as if to lunge and take the child. It would be easy enough, he was certain. It didn't look like Alister would be much trouble to them. He was too skinny to be able to put up much of a fight. But underestimating him was this man's mistake.

Alister held the boy with his right hand while swinging his duffel bag harshly at both men and kicking the chair backwards at the same time, catching them off guard. While they were getting unentangled from the chair and each other, the redhead quickly disappeared around a corner and down an alley. The child, feeling certain that he would be safe now, clung to Alister's neck and watched the alley come to an end. Alister dove down the next street, highly aware of the criminals chasing him, and then leaped over a medium-sized hedge in his path, tumbling down on the other side.

"That was neat!" the boy chirped as Alister got up to run again. One of their pursuers, getting desperate, shot off a warning round of gunfire. Alister looked irritated at this. They wouldn't be able to keep firing at him; they'd be too concerned that they might hit the child. And they needed him alive. So he wasn't too worried as a bullet whistled by and hit a nearby tree.

"It won't be neat if we're caught," the redhead said grimly as chips of bark flew in all directions. He turned away so that none would go in his eyes. He didn't especially want to go blind, he thought sarcastically.

A second bullet ripped through his right shoulder without warning and he screamed in pain, momentarily letting go of the small body. But the boy still clung to him, his little arms firmly around Alister's neck. "Mister! Mister, you're hurt!" he wailed.

Alister somehow resisted the urge to clutch at the wound and kept running instead—his good arm now around the child. Swiftly he dashed around a corner and into a taxi that just so happened to be there at the curb. When he had the door shut, he leaned back against the seat and tried to catch his breath.

That had been too close. . . . And the men were naturally right behind them. Now that he was wounded, there would be less he could do if they were caught. He narrowed his eyes in irritation. _I should've been paying more attention,_ he berated himself. But being frustrated over the past wouldn't help the present.

The child settled onto his lap again. "You're bleeding," he exclaimed in horror, tears coming to his eyes. For one so young, he only knew that weapons such as guns killed people. He couldn't yet understand that there were wounds of varying severity and that one could recover after being shot. He was certain that Alister was going to die. "You're all hurt now 'cause of me!"

Alister glanced at the cab driver, who seemed to be dozing, and then down at the innocent child. "The bullet went through me," he replied softly, knowing that the boy probably didn't understand. "That's better than if it had gotten lodged in my shoulder. In any case, I'm going to be alright." He laid his left hand on the child's head, ruffling the dark tresses. His right arm hung at his side, currently useless. He didn't want to attempt to move it at the moment for fear of irritating his shoulder.

"No!" the boy sobbed, grabbing Alister's wrist. "You're gonna die! That's what happens when you get shot—you die! You helped me and now you'll die!" And suddenly Alister no longer saw a child with turquoise eyes and black hair—he saw a gray-eyed, red-haired boy who gazed at him adoringly and who meant the world to him. He saw his brother Miruko terrified because Alister had been shot during that abominable war. That had happened after their mother had been killed and they had been all alone. He still didn't know whether it had been an accident that he had been shot then or if it had been deliberate, but it didn't really matter now.

It had been when he and Miruko were trying to go to what was left of the market to find food. They had been starving for days and finally Alister had decided that they would have to brave the fighting to get something to eat. He had told Miruko to stay behind and hide, but the child had followed him anyway, terrifed when the bombs had started going off in their neighborhood. And the entire downtown area had been transformed into a battle field. Alister hadn't realized things were that bad, but when he had seen the state of things he had known that he and Miruko couldn't remain. As he had started leading his brother off, a bullet had slammed into his chest.

Miruko had screamed, certain that it had somehow been his fault for coming along when Alister had told him to stay behind. Alister remembered reassuring his brother that he would be fine and that of course Miruko wasn't at fault, even as he had winced in pain and doubled over in agony, clutching his chest. Then he had felt consciousness slipping away from him. His last coherent thoughts had been that he couldn't leave Miruko all alone and that he had to survive somehow.

Alister recalled waking up in the home of a kind neighbor, a panicked and worried Miruko at his side. By some miracle, neither of them had been shot again and the town doctor had found them. Once he had gotten them to safety, he had managed to successfully remove the bullet before Alister had lost too much blood to be able to survive. But he still had the scar where the cruel lead had entered his body. It was very faint now, but if he looked closely he could still see it.

He came back to the present now, finding that he was still holding the crying child close to him with his left arm. He wasn't certain why the boy was already so worried over him when they had only barely met, but he was touched. "Don't worry," he said softly. "I promise I'm going to be alright. People can get better after they're shot. When I was a lot younger, I was shot in the chest." If he wasn't wounded at the moment, he might have tried to show him the scar. But as it was, he didn't think that would be a good idea.

The child looked up at him in disbelief, tears standing in his turquoise eyes and more trailing down his face. This seemed too unbelievable for him. Gently Alister brushed the tears away. "I was able to get help in time," he explained. "That's why I was able to be okay." He heard a stirring sound and glanced up, seeing the cab driver rousing. _All the better. We need to get out of here before we're found out._ He was certain that any moment the thugs would find them and either force their way into the car or force Alister and the boy out of it.

"Then you need to get help now, too," the boy said stubbornly, frowning at him.

Alister had to smile. "I will," he reassured him. "But first, tell me your name and where you live, if you can. I need to get you home and call the police to catch the men who were chasing us or else we'll continue being in danger." His shoulder was throbbing, though he wouldn't admit it. He knew he needed to investigate the wound now and try to stop the bleeding. The last thing he needed was to do something stupid, such as pass out from blood loss. Slowly he began shrugging the trenchcoat off.

"I'm Pierre!" the boy chirped. "Pierre Martindale." He blinked at Alister, watching him carefully pull out a handkerchief and hold it over his bleeding shoulder. The sight of the blood both fascinated and sickened Pierre, as he had rarely seen any in his short life but knew that it was a sign that someone was hurt (the only other time he had seen blood was when Diana had accidentally cut herself with a knife while fixing dinner). But soon he looked away, biting his lip, and hid his face in Alister's trenchcoat.

The cab driver, who was now fully awake, stared at them in the rearview mirror. "Hey, what's going on!" he cried indignantly. "Pierre Martindale's a kidnapped kid! There's alerts all over the city about him! What are you doing with him and why are you bleeding all over my car!"

"He got hurt saving me from the mean men!" Pierre announced, looking up and frowning at the driver. "Don't you be mean to him! He doesn't deserve it!"

"I'm taking him to his home," Alister added coldly, "and the police need to be called and given descriptions of the men." He hissed in pain, touching both of the bullet holes with the tips of his fingers. He felt a slight dizziness, but tried to ward it off. The last thing Pierre needed was to see him black out. The poor child would think for sure that he had died. Somehow he had to stay awake. He had to. . . . If he could just keep himself from losing any more blood, he'd probably be able to manage it.

The cab driver didn't answer immediately. He seemed disturbed by something as he turned the key and started the engine. When Alister glanced out the back windshield, he saw what had put the man into such a panic—there was a dark car barreling towards them, complete with gunmen leaning out of the windows and their pistols pointed at the cab. It wasn't the sight Alister was hoping to see.

* * *

Raphael felt out of place in Hilda's limo. He didn't know why he'd even allowed himself to be talked into going with her at all. He supposed it was just his foolish fantasies, wanting to believe that he still had a living family member who cared about him. But why would she care now when she had rejected and abandoned him eight years before? Nothing about him had really changed since then, he didn't think.

Or had it? He was still bitter about much of humanity, and about how so many people were cruel and hateful, but still . . . there _was_ something different, he realized. When Hilda had last seen him, there hadn't been any living human in whom he had placed his trust. Now . . . now there were two.

"What have you been doing for eight years, Raphael?" Hilda's voice broke the silence. She was slowly drinking another glass of champagne, retrieved from a private case in her limousine. She had offered some to Raphael, but he had refused, never having quite understood what made it so appealing to drink. He remembered sneaking a drink of wine at a fancy party when he had been a child. For weeks he hadn't been able to get the taste out of his mouth and out of his mind. He could still taste the bitterness in his memory if he concentrated hard enough. Since then he had avoided all alcohol like the plague. It clouded one's senses anyway, not to mention leaving frustrating hangovers the day after indulging in it. And if one became addicted, they were in for trouble. Raphael frankly couldn't see any good reason to drink any of it.

He now wondered what to say in response to Hilda's question. _Oh, for most of that time I've been part of a secret organization bent on rebuilding the world by stealing people's souls._ No, somehow that just didn't sound right. "A little of everything," he responded at last, crossing his arms and realizing that he was speaking coldly. But then he wasn't surprised. He and Hilda weren't bosom friends. Not that they ever had been, but they had seen quite a lot of each other when they had been children. So much was different now, for both of them.

"I haven't heard anything about you," Hilda remarked, crossing her legs. She pulled her wrap closer around herself, realizing that she felt cold. She actually didn't like dresses such as the one she was wearing, but she had supposed that to be successful in society, she had to wear the kinds of things that most everyone else did. It was her dream to be in high society, just as her parents were, and she knew that she had pushed Raphael away because of it. But a part of her honestly regretted it now. Raphael was a good person. He hadn't deserved to be treated like dirt.

"No, I don't imagine you would have." Raphael really wasn't much in the mood for conversation. He wanted to continue looking for his friends, though he really knew it was likely hopeless. How would he possibly find them in this large country? He knew he couldn't give up. He would never give up on either of them. That wasn't his nature—to abandon his loved ones. Once Raphael considered someone part of his family, they could always count on him to be there. He had the kind of extreme loyalty that would make him a very faithful husband—if he was interested in romance, that is. But he was not. He was, however, a faithful friend.

Hilda sighed sadly, leaning back against the inside of the limo's door. "What happened to us, Raphael?" she asked. "We're not the same. I said you hadn't changed much, but really, you have. You've changed from the little boy I used to play with. And I know I've changed. Most assuredly I've changed."

"At least you admit it," Raphael grunted. _What had happened to him?_ Well, for starters, he'd had his family ripped away from him in a storm that Dartz had created. He'd been stranded alone on an island for years, with only three cards that represented his family members as his companions. He'd come home to a world of chaos and deceit and madness and had been rejected by his childhood friend. Then he had joined Doom and had met his new family—Alister and Valon. And the man he'd idolized had betrayed them all. Again he had returned to the world of chaos, this time wanting nothing more than to locate his family again. That was what had happened to him.

"Hey," Hilda said suddenly, sitting up straight again, "something isn't right here." She frowned, finishing her champagne and setting the glass down. "This isn't the way back to Paulette's." She was only visiting in this area, she had told Raphael, and she was staying at a friend's manor. But now she was certain that they were not headed for that manor.

Raphael frowned too. Anything out of the ordinary in this situation could be a bad sign. He had the feeling that they were in for trouble.

"Carlton, where are you going?" Hilda demanded now, leaning over to look through the partition separating the front of the car from the back.

A cold metal was placed to her head and she gasped. "Carlton doesn't work here anymore," was the chilling reply. "And if you and your pretty boy cousin don't do as we say, you'll both wind up dead."

Raphael growled, instantly coming to attention. He wanted to knock the gun away from Hilda, but there was no way he could do that right now without only endangering her worse. "What is it you want?" he demanded, thinking of how these criminals were now wasting even more of his time. This was the last place he had expected to find trouble of this sort.

"You'll find out soon enough," was the gruff reply. "Just don't try anything stupid and maybe you'll make it out alive." In the next moment Raphael heard a shot fired out the window, followed by another.

"What's going on!" Hilda yelled angrily, attempting to turn around and look out the window now that the gun was no longer being pointed at her. All she could see was an arm hanging out of the window ahead, the hand firmly holding a firing gun. And she was furious that her car was being used for these nefarious purposes.

Raphael spoke dryly in reply. "If you want my honest opinion, the limousine was hijacked by these men because they're trying to either catch or kill someone. And we get to be the lucky bystanders, the witnesses to their atrocity." _The witnesses who will probably be killed when this is over. _Raphael was not pleased in the least. But he was going to be even less pleased when he found out later who they had been shooting at.

* * *

Valon purposefully entered the trailer where he had been boarding, making certain to be quiet so as not to attract unwanted attention. He looked around with a sigh at the sparse surroundings and began collecting his belongings together to fit into his backpack. There weren't that many. Random clothes, a portable CD player, several compact discs to go with it. . . . Of course, his infamous goggles were perched on his head. He never seemed to go anywhere without them. 

With a wry smirk he recalled how he had even joined up with the biker gang to begin with. Some of them had cornered him on the road and hadn't been going to let him pass. In irritation, Valon had flown over them on his motorcycle to get by. That stunt had captured their attention and things had gone from there, especially when Sandy had came upon the scene. Somehow Valon had found himself agreeing to join with them temporarily, just until he could find his friends.

He did lots of odd things at the spur of the moment. Joining with Dartz had been another of those things, though since that had been the only way to get out of prison, he felt like perhaps it hadn't been such a wrong decision. And he had met Alister and Raphael then. . . . He wouldn't have, otherwise.

"Valon?"

The brunette started, almost dropping the red jacket he was holding. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard anyone come in. But he knew it was Sandy without even turning around. With a sad sigh he set the jacket down on the cot and turned around to face the young woman.

Sandy dropped her helmet in the doorway and came in further. "You're leaving, aren't you?" she frowned, fingering the backpack. "Is it because of something Michael said?" She knew her beau could be intimidating, but she didn't think Valon would be the type to be affected by his words. He seemed different than most people, and similar to Sandy herself—independent and wanting to be free. And yet there was another part of him that was insecure and sad. She had seen this late at night when she tried to comfort him after one of his dreams.

Valon watched her and then sighed, shaking his head. "Not really," he replied slowly. "It just seems . . . it seems like I'm not doin' much good here. I haven't been able to find any trace of my chums . . . and since I've been here, things have been kinda strained between you and your boyfriend." He smiled ruefully. "I don't wanna be comin' between the two of you or anything like that." The last thing Valon wanted was to be a third wheel. He had already been unwanted for most of his life. He was tired of getting into situations where it would be better if he wasn't around.

"But you haven't been," Sandy objected. She crossed her arms, looking at the Australian who had captured her heart without even trying. She knew Valon didn't return her feelings the way she wished he did, and she knew it was likely for the best, but that didn't make things any easier. She didn't want him to go.

"I'm not stupid, Sandy," Valon said quietly, zipping up the backpack and looking into her eyes. "I know how you feel about me. And I know that's not gonna do any good for you and Michael." He sighed, leaning against the wall. "I can't return your feelings, and I need to find my chums, so . . . it's better if I just leave. I just kinda feel like nothin's getting accomplished while I'm here." _And it's like I don't belong. I know I don't. . . . Not here._ His place was with Alister and Raphael, as strange as it sounded to him to be admitting it. This biker gang didn't care about him and he really didn't care much about any of them, save for Sandy. But with Alister and Raphael, he had a bit more of an assurance that he was wanted.

"I guess I can't change your mind, then, can I?" Sandy asked with a wry half-smile. She'd known he would leave someday, but she hadn't quite considered that it would be before he found these friends he was looking for. And she didn't entirely understand why he needed to look for them anyway or what had caused them to be separated. It didn't make much sense to her. What had caused them to get lost from each other? She had the feeling that it had something to do with whatever he hadn't wanted to tell her earlier, about his "organization." But she didn't want to pry. If Valon had the desire to tell her, he would.

"'Fraid not," Valon told her gently. He cared about Sandy as a friend and didn't want to hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted. He knew he had to leave, for both their sakes. He needed to try looking more in the cities for Alister and Raphael. There wasn't much hope that they would be wandering through this area, unless . . . unless they were maybe looking for him. Was it possible? Valon kept thinking that perhaps they were and then changing his mind again. How could it really be that he was cared about now—and enough that his two Doom associates would spend times trying to locate him? It was hard for him to even comprehend.

Sandy smiled sadly. "Well . . . will you at least stay until after our performance tonight?" she asked, her voice hopeful. "I wanted you to watch me. . . ." Slowly she reached out, taking his hand.

Valon relented, laying his hand over hers. She had been practicing for so long and so hard, even adding Valon's own stunts to her performance in honor of him. So he would stay long enough to see her moment of glory. "Alright," he said aloud, but he couldn't stop the nagging feeling that something was going to go very wrong. . . .

* * *

Sandy's performance was last. The show had so far gone on smoothly and the bikers were well-liked. Sandy was no exception. As she did her expert twists and turns the spectators clapped resoundingly and whistled. But Valon found no great satisfaction in the audience's applause. He realized all the more that he didn't really want to be on display—nor did he like it. He did these sorts of things to survive and because he enjoyed it, not to perform for people like a cheap carnival worker. _Funny,_ he thought to himself, _now I know why Alister never wanted to show me how he can throw his voice around._

This was the first time Valon had actually joined in with their act. He knew it would be the last time as well. He could only hope that he would soon find his home, where he belonged, with Alister and Raphael. It was strange, how he realized that such was all that he wanted. If they would take him back, then he would be happy.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't consciously realize what was happening around him until he suddenly saw Sandy soar through the air on her motorcycle. He came to attention, remembering how he himself had executed such a move many times before, and then discovered with horror that something was wrong. Instead of landing upright, the motorcycle tilted violently to the side while still in the air, sending Sandy flying off in the opposite direction to crash down like a broken doll. The crowd stood up in alarm and Valon's eyes widened in stunned shock.

"Sandy!" he yelled, finding himself running to her aid. Then he was abruptly shoved away by Michael, who gave him such a look of hatred that the Australian actually felt a chill go up his spine. The look had clearly said, _If she's dead, you'll suffer for it._


	4. Evening Falls

**Chapter Three**

Alister fumbled with the seatbelt, struggling to make it work with just one hand. Pierre watched him worriedly, not really aware of the gunmen in the car behind them. But that was just as well. He would find out soon enough. At last Alister managed to get the child strapped in and he went to work attempting to fix his own seatbelt, all while the cab driver was frantically trying to steer them away from the dark limousine behind them. He hissed, first being thrown forward and then being slammed against the door, jarring his wounded shoulder.

Pierre yelped in alarm. "What's wrong, mister?" he cried, grabbing the folds of the trenchcoat again and then just clinging to Alister's close-fitting tank top. A bullet shot past the window, breaking the mirror on the driver's side.

Alister struggled to ignore the pain in his shoulder and pulled his trenchcoat's collar up around his neck before putting an arm protectively around the child as he bent over. "They're not giving up," he replied, hearing the back windshield starting to crack after being struck with another bullet. Quickly he wrapped part of his coat around Pierre to guard him against the glass that was certain to break.

It did only a moment later. Pierre shrieked in confusion and fright and Alister held him close as shards bounced off his back. In front, the cab driver cursed and swerved frantically around a corner, hoping to get a head start and evade their new enemies—but the limousine, following at a close pace, seemed unable to be shaken. It continued to chase the taxi through crowded neighborhoods, dark alleys, and vacant streets, the driver and his passenger still shooting every now and then.

The taxi driver's knuckles were white. "I guess I should be grateful they don't have a machine gun," he gulped, wondering why none of the bullets had hit his tires yet. This was too much excitement for his normally lazy mind to cope with. He longed for another routine drive to a hotel or a fancy restaurant—anything except being shot at! He made a silent vow never to allow this strange redhead into his cab again—well, providing that either of them made it out of this alive, that is.

The rapidfire shots that came a moment later signaled to Alister that they did, indeed, have a machine gun. He growled low, continuing to hunch down to avoid being shot and protecting Pierre as best as he could. Once or twice he thought he felt pieces of glass digging into the back of his hand, but he ignored it for the time being.

* * *

Raphael glared coldly at the partition separating the back of the limo from the front, which he had closed so as to help prevent any more guns being pointed at him and Hilda. He hated sitting by and doing nothing while the two assassins continued to fire madly at the vehicle in front of them. The feeling of uselessness was one that he had no purpose for. He looked around the space, idly wondering if there was anything he could use to throw at the gunman on his side of the limo. If he could knock the gun out of his hand, or even just render it unusable—and if Hilda could do the same with the one on her side—maybe they would stop the vehicle and Raphael could get the better of them. But the only possible things he could see to throw were Hilda's champagne bottles. 

"Hand me one of those," he ordered.

Hilda started and looked over at him in confusion. When she saw what he was pointing at, she frowned and remarked, "Isn't it the wrong time to decide to have a drink?" Besides, she had always known that Raphael _didn't_ drink (even though she had offered him one earlier). What could he have in mind?

"Just give me the bottle," Raphael growled. Blinking in surprise, Hilda handed it over, then immediately yelled in disbelief as Raphael threw it out the window with careful precision. It struck the gun hard, shattering and cutting the hitman's hand—not to mention quickly rendering the weapon useless as it became covered in the sticky, bubbly liquid. The man cursed, dropping it in favor of tending to his wounds. His partner then cursed at him in disgust.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hilda burst out angrily, glaring as Raphael rolled up his window again. "Do you know how much that cost?" She gripped at her wrap as it started to be jolted away from her as they went over a bump. "I paid good money for that champagne!"

Raphael grunted. "I don't know how much it cost," he admitted, "and I don't care. But someone's life is worth more than your cheap ideas of pleasure." He pointed at Hilda's window. "Get another bottle and throw it at the other gun." But he had the feeling that perhaps getting the second gun away wasn't going to be as easy, not if the other assassin was half-prepared for an attack.

"Are you kidding?" Hilda snapped. "I'll do no such thing. That champagne is expensive. Besides, they probably have other artillery that they can use, even if we can disarm them for the moment."

"Whether they do or not, if we can distract them the other car may be able to get away." Raphael's patience was being seriously tried. As always, Hilda's love of material possessions was getting in the way of something being able to be accomplished. He himself had never cared much for temporal possessions, even less so after being stranded on the island for years. Really, all he cared about right now were his friends—and stopping these assassins from killing someone while driving Hilda's hijacked limousine. "Look, if you won't use a champagne bottle, take your shoes off and throw those." He glanced down at Hilda's high heeled pumps. The heels looked to be almost three inches long, Raphael observed in disbelief. How could anyone walk on those without damaging their feet?

Hilda gaped at him. "Then I wouldn't have anything to walk on!" She crossed her arms. "Unless you would agree to carry me inside when we reach Paulette's."

Raphael's eyes narrowed. He was about to reply when Hilda abruptly spoke again.

"Never mind. These shoes cost me almost fifty dollars. I'm not going to toss them out the window like they mean nothing."

In complete irritation Raphael undid his seatbelt and got up, grabbing another bottle and pushing Hilda aside to throw it out the window. She cried out in protest, but Raphael paid no heed. When the hitman hissed in pain but only held the gun tighter, the blonde growled and reached for a third bottle. But that was when the limo jerked to a halt and he was thrown onto the floor without warning.

Hilda frowned at him. "Now we're both in for it!" she complained. "You've wasted two bottles of champagne and now you're going to get us both killed!"

Raphael grunted, pulling himself up onto the seat and preparing himself to fight when the door would be opened, as it surely would be. "I think I remember now why we drifted apart as children," he said, only half sarcastically. "You were always blaming me for everything that went wrong." Not to mention that Hilda was just too superficial for him to be able to stand at times. Her incessant whining about the champagne bottles, under the current circumstances, was enough to drive him utterly mad. Why, she acted as if it was more important than anything else!

_

* * *

_

_He sighed, leaning back against the dark wall and crossing his arms. Valon had asked a question that he didn't know how to answer—he had asked if they would ever escape. He didn't even know why he was talking to the brunette, really. But he supposed it was because there wasn't anything else to do. And somehow, it was nice—to have someone familiar there with him, before he died. He was sure he would. How would they be able to escape? There was no escape from this holding area. And when their souls would be fed to Leviathan, it would all be over._

"_I don't think we're going to get away, Valon." He spoke matter-of-factly and emotionlessly, as was normal with him. He saw no reason to run from this truth._

_Valon sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah . . . you're probably right, mate." He was silent for a while and then an ironic smile tugged at his lips. "You know . . . I never would've thought that I'd ever wind up dyin' here . . . with you."_

"_Is that such a horrible prospect?" Alister looked at him slightly, lowering his shades. They were only associates, not close by any means. And yet . . . there was a certain bond between them, something he couldn't explain. Maybe it was because they and Raphael had been together for so long as Doom's top soldiers. He didn't know. But it seemed a bit strange, when he and Valon could usually never get along for more than a short period of time._

_Valon laughed hollowly. "I dunno . . . maybe not." He shrugged, giving Alister a sidelong glance. "I guess . . . you and Raph are probably the closest things to chums I have." It seemed strange to say that, but Valon supposed it was the truth. He had never been with anyone else for such a long time, except for Mary, the nun. Naturally he would grow close to people he had been around for ages, especially when they treated him well. So many of the people he had known had been cruel and heartless. Most of the street gangs he had been with in the past had been like that. But Alister and Raphael were not, by any means. Oh, certainly it was hard to get along with Alister sometimes, but at least he never tried to beat or hurt Valon. And Raphael was generally quite tolerant of his oddities._

_Alister looked at him, his gray eyes betraying his surprise. "Well . . . if I'm the closest thing you have for a friend, you're in trouble," he remarked flatly._

_Valon burst out laughing. "Yeah . . . I guess you're right." He sobered again, leaning against the wall as well. "But hey . . . Alister, if . . . if we ever do get away, what happens to us then?" He spoke slowly, hesitating, not entirely sure he wanted the question answered. He was sure he knew what would happen. They would all go their separate ways, never to see each other again. He would be alone once more, as he had always wound up alone. He hated being alone. . . . He hated it so much. . . . And whether he was consciously willing to acknowledge it or not, he wanted to stay with Alister and Raphael._

_Alister thought about Valon's question and frowned, pondering on the answer. But he had no answer. "I don't know," he replied honestly. Did he want to know? Did he even believe he could think about it, when he was convinced of their destruction? He sighed. In a way, he also found the idea nice—staying with Valon and Raphael. At least then he wouldn't have to be constantly alone with his thoughts of the past and of how he could have possibly prevented so many deaths of those he cared about. But on the other hand, he didn't want to be around the other two. He didn't want to put them in possible danger or worry that if something were about to happen to them, he wouldn't be able to stop it. It was one of his worst fears—that if he became close to someone (or two someones) again, they would be taken from him._

_The green light of the Orichalcos abruptly interrupted their conversation. Someone else was arriving—another captured soul. Both Alister and Valon came to attention. As the light faded and the tough blonde's form was revealed, Valon gasped in shock and Alister's eyes narrowed. So Raphael had failed as well. . . . Now they would most certainly all die together._

"Mister! Mister, please, wake up! Come on!"

Vaguely Alister was aware of the innocent voice calling to him, but he found it almost impossible to drag himself out of the state of senselessness he had been in. Though his dream's events had happened so long ago, it seemed to him as if they were happening anew right now. He remembered it all so clearly—his conversations with Valon while they were trapped, Raphael's sudden appearance . . . learning the truth about their misfortunes. . . .

"Please! You gotta wake up. You can't . . . you can't die!" Alister felt a small hand grab at his uninjured shoulder and shake him gently. "Come on! Naptime's over now. Wake up!"

Alister managed a groan and at last succeeded in becoming aware enough to open his eyes. He looked right into Pierre's eyes that were full of horror and fear. He couldn't remember what had happened at all or why he needed to wake up. Had he passed out from blood loss or had he hit his head on something? Yes, it must be the latter. His right temple was throbbing. And so, he realized, was his wounded shoulder. "I'm alright," he tried to reassure Pierre, even though he really didn't feel that alright.

The boy brightened immensely and scrambled onto Alister's lap, having undone his seatbelt in order to do so. "The car went really fast around a corner and it went Boom! Crash!" he reported, gesturing wildly to demonstrate. "You hit hard on the door and then you went to sleep." His lip quivered and tears filled his eyes. "You wouldn't wake up!"

Alister struggled to sit up straight. Briefly he massaged his bruised temple and then put his arm around the frightened child. "I'm sorry," he said gently. He would've tried to explain about unconsciousness, but he was certain that Pierre wouldn't understand. Besides, there were most likely other things to worry about. He was awake now and that was what mattered. "Do you know what happened to those men, Pierre?"

The boy shook his head. "They stopped shooting, but then we crashed," he announced. "They're not behind us now."

Alister looked back through the broken windshield. Indeed, the limo was gone. When he glanced back at the front, he discovered that the cab driver was also gone. He frowned darkly. "Is the driver coming back?"

"No," Pierre replied. "He got scared and ran away."

Alister growled. There was no way he could drive the taxi himself, not with his right shoulder improperly treated and his arm almost completely useless. If he tried to use it now, especially for some strenuous activity such as driving, he might damage it permanently. Either they had to find a cab driver with backbone or they would have to walk. But it didn't look like they were in a very rich area. It would probably be a long walk.

_

* * *

_

Valon nervously paced the floor of the hospital waiting room, his thoughts tumbling over each other as no news of Sandy's condition seemed forthcoming. It was strange—the things that were coming to his mind. All he could think of was when he, Alister, and Raphael had been trapped in the holding area for the captured souls. It had been a confusing, alarming, and downright mystifying experience—but on the other hand, Valon had never felt closer to the other two bikers than he had then. Even he and Alister had been able to converse without getting into arguments every two minutes. He had actually enjoyed their time together, he realized.

And he wished the both of them were with him now. Maybe this would all be less nerve-wracking if he didn't have to go through it alone. As it was, the only other person with him in the room was Michael, who certainly didn't want his company. Valon didn't especially want his, either.

"Stop your pacing," Michael growled at last. "It's making me edgy." He didn't like the Australian being there at all, but it wasn't as if he could make him go away. He had no jurisdiction on what Valon could or couldn't do. But that didn't stop him from vowing that Valon's death would be slow and painful if Sandy died.

"I'm not afraid of you, you know," Valon replied, standing in front of him and crossing his arms. And of course he wasn't. He didn't really fear _people_—he feared _things_. Above all, he feared being alone and uncared about, especially after having experienced at least a bit of caring from Alister and Raphael—especially Raphael. Valon was certain that Raphael had been a good older brother to his two siblings, judging from the way he always treated him and Alister.

Michael's eyes narrowed and he looked like he was about to reply something along the lines of "You will be," when a concerned nurse came into the room and looked at them. She recognized them both as being the ones worried about Sandy, so she walked over closer and addressed them both. They then asked to know about Sandy's condition.

"She's still alive," the young woman said quietly, "but it doesn't look good for her. There's a possibility that she may wake up paralyzed, with amnesia, or . . ." She hesitated before finishing her sentence. "Or she may not wake up at all," she concluded. "The possibility is still very great that she may not survive. She took quite a bad spill."

Michael stood up, clenching his fists. "I want to see her," he demanded. "Alone." Valon, knowing that Michael had more of a right to see her than he did, didn't protest.

He watched as the nurse led Michael down the hall and around a corner. Then his shoulders slumped and he leaned against the windowsill. Of course if he'd never joined the stunt artists in the first place, Sandy probably wouldn't have gotten hurt. She wouldn't have known his dangerous antics and therefore wouldn't have tried to copy them. And she wouldn't have grown fond of someone she could never have.

_I can't ever do anything right!_ he berated himself. Then he weakly smirked, imagining what the other two Doom bikers' reactions would have been if he had said that statement to them.

Alister probably would have risen an eyebrow and said flatly that if Valon wanted to believe that, it wasn't his business. Valon supposed that, in Alister's own way, he would be saying that thinking such a thing was ridiculous. Alister was like that. If taken in one context, his words could sound rude—but if taken in the other context, they would mean quite the opposite. Valon usually wound up thinking Alister was being rude. That was how so many of their quarrels got started.

Raphael, on the other hand, might have actually told Valon that it wasn't true and not to beat himself up over what had happened to Sandy. The Australian could picture the blonde man gruffly laying a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He smiled a bit. Raphael looked extremely cold and rough, but he was actually a gentle, kind person. Heck, he had even owned a couple of cats during the time they were with Doom.

Then Valon sighed. He missed them both—Alister and Raphael. When he thought of them, he could almost feel as though they were still with him. It still wasn't the same as if they really were physically with him, however. It wasn't the same at all. And he wished desperately that it was.

* * *

The door flew open, just as Raphael knew it would. The driver of the limousine stood threateningly in the doorway, ignoring his bleeding hand and pointing his gun straight at them both. Hilda tensed and froze on the spot, her heart racing. Raphael simply glared frostily at the hijacker, prepared to leap up in an instant to fight if it was necessary. The gun probably wouldn't work anyway after being coated with champagne, but he didn't want to take any chances. 

"You think you're funny, don't you." The voice was low and gravelly and filled with only hateful emotions. The assassin took a step forward. "We almost had that kid!"

His partner joined him now, wrapping his tie around his injured hand. He looked at Raphael equally as nastily, his violet eyes flashing with anger. "If we could've caught up to them and killed the redhead, the kid would've been ours!" he growled. "Do you know how much money we could've made from holding that brat for ransom!" He was quickly elbowed in the ribs for these remarks. There was no need to tell their captives everything, even though soon they would both be dead anyway.

But Raphael's attention had already been piqued. "'Redhead'!" he repeated, his own eyes narrowing darkly. He knew it was likely impossible and preposterous to even begin to assume that Alister was the one they were speaking of, but still . . . still he couldn't let this go unchecked. Alister loved children. If he had stumbled upon a child in danger, Raphael knew that his friend would try everything in his power to rescue him or her. Wouldn't it be a strange and disturbing coincidence if Alister truly was the one they had been shooting at?

The criminal blinked at him in confusion. "Yeah, that's what I said."

Raphael gave them both a deathglare. "Who is this redhead?" He could feel Hilda's eyes upon him questioningly, but he ignored her. He only cared about getting the answer to his query—and quickly. If that had been Alister, by any small chance, than Raphael had been so close to finding him without even knowing it! In all likelihood, he had saved his friend's life.

The first gangster climbed into the limousine now, pointing his gun at Raphael's heart. "What does it matter?" he snarled. "Keep asking questions and you're gonna die a whole lot sooner." His eyes bored into Raphael's own. "He was just a random loser interfering in our plans."

Hilda had never seen Raphael get as angry as he did then. In one swift motion he knocked the gun from the hitman's hand and pinned him down on the car's seat, kicking the weapon underneath it. His blue eyes were aflame with rage. The other criminal just stood by, watching in shock. "If he's who I think he is, he's anything but a loser," Raphael rumbled. "Tell me who he is!"

The assassin struggled in vain to get free. "I don't know, alright?" he yelled. "He was just some guy running around in a black trenchcoat and pants and a weird shirt that showed his waist." He grabbed Raphael's wrists, trying to pry the strong hands away from his coat. "Let me go!" He cursed Raphael viciously. Raphael retaliated by delivering a harsh punch in his face, swiftly rendering him senseless.

Now the blonde man looked up at the gangster's companion. "Don't think I'm gonna let you off the hook, either," he growled. He climbed out of the car and lunged, though the other criminal tried to get away. He didn't make it in time and soon was being held in a headlock by Raphael, who turned to look in at Hilda. "I hope your vehicle is equipped with a phone," he said coldly, pressing just enough on his victim's throat to cause him to pass out from lack of oxygen. "The police need to be called." Raphael released his grip now. There was no need to be cruel. All he wanted was for the criminals to be indisposed long enough to tie them up.

Hilda shakily reached for the phone. "What was that all about?" she cried, dialing 911 in lieu of the local police department—whose number she didn't know. "Why were you so insistent on knowing about some hoodlum redhead!" Raphael baffled her so much. Again she wondered what was going through his mind. The last hour or so that she had spent with him had been more active than anything that had happened during the entire previous week that she had been in this city. She wasn't entirely sure she appreciated it.

Raphael set about tying the two men up with their own ties. His eyes narrowed in anger at Hilda's term of "hoodlum." She didn't even know Alister. How could she possibly try to judge him from what a couple of actual hoodlums had said? "He's not a hoodlum," he said in a quiet, angry tone. "He's one of my only two friends in this world." He looked out the open door, wondering where Alister was right now and if he was safe. It was highly possible that he was wounded—perhaps seriously—but Raphael wouldn't concentrate on thinking that. He wouldn't jump to conclusions. He would wait until he found Alister and saw for himself. Otherwise he would only worry himself silly.

In a way, this incident actually gave him hope. Now he knew that Alister was still alive. The person described had to be him! It would be too much of a coincidence if someone else answered to that description right now. Once the police came and took the thugs away, Raphael vowed that he would look all over the city and not stop until he found his friend. Then he would find the other one, Valon, as well. And then, perhaps, they would be a family again.


	5. The Children of Eve

**Chapter Four**

_The sound of the bombs awakened him instantly. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and discovering the wetness of teardrops. He had been having another dream, he realized, and not a happy one. Usually he never remembered the dreams' contents when he first woke up, but then he would after being up for a while. His dreams were always dark and disturbing, filled with death and blood. And now, as he heard a frightened wail from across the room, he recalled that this dream had involved finding his younger brother dead. He clenched his fist tightly, unable to bear the thought._

"_Hey," he called softly in the darkened room, hoping that his voice wasn't shaking, "it's alright, Miruko. The bombs are a long way off from where we are." Slowly he threw the covers back and stepped down on the cold wooden floor, feeling around for the younger child's bed. The electricity on the entire street was out, unsurprisingly, and all the two brothers had for light were several candles and a weakening flashlight. But he didn't like to use the candles very much for fear of something catching on fire. And since the flashlight's batteries were on their last legs, he had decided that they should use it as little as possible._

_He heard a sniffle to his left and then felt small hands grabbing at his pajamas. "They sound like they're right here," Miruko replied, tears slipping from his eyes as he clung to his older brother. "And they took Mama away. What if they take you away too? I don't wanna be alone!" He shuddered, hiccuping as the sobs continued. "Where would I go? How would I get anything to eat? Who . . . who would love me?"_

_Alister felt his heart shatter. He pulled Miruko close to him as he found his way back to his bed. "That doesn't sound like my brave little brother talking," he said gently, letting the child continue to tightly hug him. "Mama would want you to hope for the best, remember? Nothing will happen to me. We have to stick together. And we can't do that if the bombs get me, can we?" He swallowed a lump in his throat. Yes, their mother had always wanted them to hope for the best. But he found it so hard to do. Their entire town, their neighborhood, their lives . . . they were all in shambles. Most everyone Alister had come to know throughout the years was dead now. Even his and Miruko's mother was gone. They only had each other now._

"_I was dreaming," Miruko said softly, tensing as he heard more bombs going off outside. "And Mama was still here. . . . But the people were still being mean and shooting at us! Then . . . then . . . they hurt you. . . . Just like they really did!" He couldn't bear to remember seeing Alister getting struck down. Blood had gone flying in every direction, oozing between Alister's fingers and pooling all around him when he had finally collapsed to the ground. "But . . . you didn't wake up that time. . . . In my dream, you . . . you just laid there. . . . You didn't move or get up. . . ."_

_Alister bit his lip, pulling Miruko closer and ruffling his hair gently. "Well . . . you've just gotta remember that it was just a dream," he said comfortingly, telling it to himself as much as to Miruko. He hated the dream he himself had been experiencing. Miruko had been laying so still on the ground, his eyes closed and blood pooling all around him. . . . Alister had tried and tried to awaken the child, but in vain. And even though he knew it was only a dream and that the proof of that was embracing him frantically for comfort, it didn't erase the aching in his heart. He was here to comfort Miruko, but who would comfort him?_

_He tried to tell himself that he didn't need anyone to comfort him. He was twelve, after all; he should be able to handle it himself. The tears he had been crying he shouldn't have been. He was too old to cry. He had to be the adult now. There was no one else who could be. But still, as he continued to hold Miruko close, a few tears slipped from his eyes._

_It was all so much pressure on one so young, one who should still be a child himself. But he had lost his innocence when this horrible war had began several years earlier. And though Miruko still possessed childlike naivete, he was quickly learning how cruel the world could be. First their father had been taken from them, then their mother, and then he had personally witnessed Alister being shot down in cold blood. Alister knew it wouldn't be long before Miruko felt the same world-weary way that he himself did inside._

Alister stumbled down the street, his duffel bag slung over his left shoulder and Pierre held close in his good arm. Thoughts tumbled over each other in his mind, most of them grim and unpleasant to remember. Over and over the scene was replayed where he had been running with Miruko through the camp, desperate to find a safer place to hide. He had told the child to get into the tank, hoping that he would be safe there. . . . He had seen the missile coming. . . . For a split second he had been certain that he would be the one to die. . . . And he had darted out of the way, only to find that the weapon hadn't been aimed at him at all—but at the tank. His world had ended in that moment.

The demons of his heart still haunted him to this day. _You killed him. You killed your brother. Seto Kaiba wasn't responsible at all or even Gozaburo. Not even Dartz. It was you!_ Sometimes the pain was so overwhelming that he didn't know how he would bear it. He had wanted more than once to kill himself; the self-hatred was so strong.

"Mister! Mister, what's wrong? Why are you sad?"

Alister blinked, coming back to the present. He was stunned when he realized that he was crying. He hadn't cried for so long . . . so many years. . . . But now here he was, doing it again. The whole experience with Pierre was dragging up so many emotional wounds. Once again a child was in his care and he was struggling so hard to protect him. No matter what happened, he had to make certain that Pierre was not mistreated or hurt—or worse, as the case had been with his own cherished brother. Now he wasn't sure how to answer the boy's honest, innocent question.

"I . . . I was just remembering my younger brother," he said at last, his voice strained and quiet. He ducked around a corner. There had still been no sign of those who were after them, but he didn't want to take any chances.

"Oh. . . ." Pierre thought about this. "Where is he? Could I play with him sometime?"

Alister's heart caught in his throat. "No," he replied at last, "I'm afraid not." He didn't know how long he had been walking and carrying the small boy. It seemed almost like an eon. And during all that time, they had barely passed any human life at all. The streets in this part of the city were almost completely deserted. If they hadn't been, someone surely would have seen and recognized Pierre as the missing Martindale child.

It was strange, Alister realized, his thoughts returning again to the past, but once, when he had been seriously considering ending it all, it had been Valon who had stopped him. The Australian probably didn't even realize what he had done. Alister gave a weak, wry smirk and wondered if Valon would care if he did know. It had been one simple remark, but for Alister it had changed whether he lived or died.

"_I guess," _Valon had remarked, leaning idly against the doorframe of Alister's room at the Orichalcos temple, _"you and Raph, havin' had families and all . . . you wouldn't wanna do anything that'd make 'em disappointed in you, right?"_ For Valon, it had only been a random comment, perhaps said because he had never truly experienced having a family and he wondered what it was like. The brunette was unpredictable.

But it had been as if a sword had pierced through Alister's heart. The knife he had been holding to his wrist clattered to the floor, the redhead's flesh paling. No, of course he would never want to do anything that would make his family disappointed in him. And they would never want him to kill himself. His back had been turned to Valon as he had sat on his bed and he had never told the Australian what he had actually been going to do with that knife, having allowed him to think that he had just been holding it and then dropped it out of the blue after being startled. Idly he wondered if he would tell Valon the truth if he saw him again.

Again snapping back to the present as Pierre yawned and snuggled against him, Alister smiled softly. "We'd better keep going," he remarked. "It's still a long way to your home—or to any taxi cabs." Pierre murmured a sleepy agreement.

_

* * *

_

Raphael growled as they passed down another street with no luck. After giving their reports to the police and going back to the limousine, he and Hilda had gotten in the front and he had opted to drive to make certain that they went where he wanted them to. But he was getting exasperated—and more worried. If Alister hadn't been captured and killed already by perhaps some other members of the gang, he might be wandering through the city with that child, perhaps wounded. He needed to be found!

Hilda's voice cut through the silence. "Do you really think the kid with your friend could be Paulette's son?" she asked hesitantly. Only at the police station had they learned of the abduction of Pierre Martindale and Hilda had been stunned and aghast. Surely, the police decided, it must have been Pierre that the criminals had been after. Officers were combing the city, trying to find both him and Alister, once Raphael gave them the redhead's description, but there had been no success on anyone's part.

"Yes," Raphael growled, turning down another street, "it all fits. I don't think there'd be two missing rich kids from the same city at the same time. It has to be your friend's son." Upon finding the street empty he mentally yelled in frustration. Alister had to be somewhere! Raphael forced all images of him laying dead out of his mind. No, he refused to believe that!

Hilda fell silent again, pondering on what she wanted to say now. "Is Pierre safe with this . . . person?"

Raphael's eyes narrowed darkly. "He's safer with him than he would be with most other people," he retorted. "Alister would die before letting harm come to a child, if he could at all prevent it."

"Maybe he is dead, then," Hilda remarked morbidly, "and Pierre is wandering off by himself somewhere in town!" She crossed her arms, glaring out the window. It seemed a fruitless search. She wanted to go back to Paulette's and see if there had been any word yet or even if Pierre had been found and returned safely.

Raphael gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "I can do without your kind of encouragement," he hissed. He already feared that Alister was dead. The last thing he needed was for Hilda to fuel those thoughts.

Hilda shrugged. "I'm just being logical," she replied. "It could have happened. And what kind of name is 'Alister,' anyway?" It sounded strange to her, as she had never heard the name before.

"It suits him," Raphael retorted through gritted teeth. "It's the Scottish form of Alexander. Basically it means 'defender of mankind.'" He drove past a small park, scanning it carefully to see if possibly he could see a familiar trenchcoat-clad redhead wandering among the trees.

"Didn't Alexander conquer the world instead of defending it?" Hilda argued.

Raphael slammed his hand hard on the steering wheel, barely missing the horn.

"Okay, okay, nevermind," Hilda sighed, leaning back in the seat.

Raphael's thoughts began to wander again. Alister truly was brave and noble, deserving of the meaning of his name. Raphael had meant everything he had said about him. If Alister was dead, it would be because he had done what he thought was right. That was how he had always lived. It was why he and the other two had stayed with Doom—believing it was the right thing. It was why they had eventually all been claimed by the Orichalcos. And it was why they had later fought against Dartz with all their hearts.

* * *

It was much later that night when the duo pulled up in front of Paulette's mansion. Having had no success, Raphael at last had agreed to go there in case Alister could have arrived with Pierre. But the only one who was there to greet them when the butler opened the door was a long-haired cat who immediately went over to the two guests.

Hilda frowned. "Oh, stay away from me!" she scolded the feline. "You'll get hairs on my dress."

Raphael gave her a look before curiously watching the cat as it rubbed against him, then gazed up and meowed. He reached down, picking the animal up and petting it. The furry body went limp in his arms, purring loudly.

"It's a Ragdoll," Hilda told him. "They think everyone's a friend and like being held. This one is Paulette's. Pierre likes her the best, though. Paulette wanted to get rid of it because it's not completely pure-blood and pedigree, but she keeps it around for Pierre." She crossed her arms, remembering countless times of finding him playing with kittens when they had been children. "You still like cats, I see."

Raphael grunted, continuing to stroke the feline. Yes, he liked cats. They were quiet and aloof and sensible, as he was. When he was a child he had always been bringing cats home to adopt, much to his mother's dismay and his father's amusement. And cats seemed to like him as well, sensing that he was a gentle person despite his tough appearance. This one was especially friendly.

"I never understood the attraction," Hilda shrugged, heading off to look for Paulette. Raphael was left to ponder over his own thoughts.

_

* * *

_

_He kicked the wall in frustration. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, he was getting tired of arguing with Alister. And it was usually over the most absurd things. Tonight they had quarreled right in front of Dartz, just because Alister had mentioned that he knew why Valon was targeting Joey Wheeler and Valon had demanded to know why Alister was so interested in targeting Seto Kaiba. Raphael had yelled at them to knock it off, and they had, but once they had left the room, it had started all over again._

"_I'm getting tired of playing referee."_

_He looked up at the sound of Raphael's voice. The tall blonde was standing nearby, watching him with crossed arms._

_Valon had a simple solution. "Then don't," he replied in irritation. He wasn't in the mood for this. And Mai had gone off to duel Pegasus without waiting for any of them to come along. Valon had wanted to watch her in action._

_Raphael rolled his eyes. "The two of you were making fools of yourselves in front of Master Dartz," he reprimanded. He couldn't understand why Alister and Valon couldn't at least make an effort to get along. Every time they were together, they were arguing within a matter of minutes. It was amazing, Raphael thought dryly, how they could turn any subject into an argument. They must truly hate each other._

"_Well," Valon retorted, "if Alister would just mind his own business, maybe it wouldn't have happened!" He crossed his own arms in defiance. "What's it matter why I'm targeting Wheeler!"_

_Raphael grunted. "You can't put all the blame on Alister," he said flatly. "It takes two to tango, Valon." He turned to walk away. "If you have to fight, do it where no one else has to listen. It's getting tiresome."_

_Valon glared after him. "Well, maybe if he was more like you, it wouldn't happen!" he announced. Raphael was more tolerant and not as criticizing. At least in Valon's mind, Alister was extremely critical. But he never stopped to consider that maybe Alister cared and that his "criticisms" were really disapproval of his actions because he didn't want Valon to be hurt. _

_Actually, Alister himself wasn't sure of that. Valon just annoyed him extremely at times until he couldn't keep silent any longer. But perhaps his annoyance stemmed from not only the fact that Valon was his complete opposite, but because he didn't want someone he cared about to do things that could have a bad result for them._

_Raphael paused at this statement and looked back. "If he was like me, he wouldn't be like himself. And you'd get tired of it after a while," he replied before walking on._

Valon had opted to take a long walk, but it wasn't calming his nerves any. If anything, it was making him more nervous and frustrated. What was going through his mind right now was the strange conversation he and Raphael had had after the time Valon and Alister had argued in front of Dartz. It had been only one of many such conversations. Raphael had always been irritated by the constant arguing between the two.

And maybe even stranger than their talk had been the aftermath of that, Valon thought wryly. He had gone out riding his motorcycle late that night, still irritated and angry, and had wound up wrecking. When he had came to, Alister had been kneeling beside him, trying to see how badly he was hurt. Valon smirked slightly, recalling asking Alister why he was trying to help. The redhead hadn't answered at first, but then had only said—in a very flat tone—that he wasn't the type to cruelly leave an associate to suffer. He had found Valon tangled up with his motorcycle and had stopped to see if he was badly hurt—or even alive. When Valon found that he couldn't walk without being pained, and that he was too dizzy to drive, Alister had taken him home on his own motorcycle.

The whole experience had always confused Valon. He had always thought that Alister truly cared nothing for him at all, associate or not. But the cold-hearted redhead had seemed to prove otherwise. There had been no ulterior motives in mind. Valon had often pondered over what had happened that night, though so many other things had been going on at that time that he hadn't really had the chance to talk with Alister about it. When they had conversed after both being captured by the Orichalcos, they had only briefly touched on the subject because at that moment Mai had joined their ranks and Valon had immediately ran over to talk to her.

Valon frowned. Mai was another person he wanted to find. But she probably didn't want to be found. He knew that she had never really liked any of the three of them that much. And if she had really wanted to be with Valon, she would have stayed and waited at the beachhouse until he had regained consciousness. But she had left, though she had given Valon a Duel Monsters card of hers.

He sighed, ignoring the soft rain as it began to fall. When he became fully aware of his surroundings, he found that he'd walked all the way back to the trailer park. No one seemed to be around at all, which confused him a bit. As far as he'd known, only he and Michael had gone to the hospital with Sandy. The others should be here. Their motorcycles were still parked by the various trailers.

Slowly, without even thinking about it, he walked over to Sandy's trailer and opened the door. As he stepped inside, turning on the light, he surveyed the room where they had shared so many conversations and fun times. There was the manga she had let him borrow last week. Sandy enjoyed many of the same kinds of mangas and animes that Valon himself did—those filled with action, adventure, and fighting. Though she did like a couple of the more "shoujo" series as well, she didn't really seem to be an idealistic romantic. She was quite similar to Valon himself in many ways. That was probably why they had gotten along so well.

Valon smirked wryly. He had never been able to interest Alister or Raphael in anime or manga—or computer games, which was another of his vices. They were both much more serious than Valon himself and usually had busied themselves with other activities, ones that they felt were more useful.

Once Valon had attempted to show Alister one of his more serious mangas, but Alister had become upset over the storyline—which had involved a war and images of children dying. He had tried not to show that he was visibly distressed, but Valon had seen it in his eyes. Later, when he had told Raphael about the incident and Raphael had explained to him briefly about Alister's childhood and his brother, Valon had understood and had felt guilty.

He had also felt a bit irritated as well. Why hadn't Alister ever talked to him about any of that? he had wondered. Raphael had said that Alister hadn't even told him for a long time, but that hadn't quelled Valon's annoyance. It wasn't as if Alister couldn't talk to him as well. But then he supposed that Alister just didn't trust him as much as he trusted Raphael. They were too different.

As Valon lifted up the manga to look at it more closely, a piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the floor. With a blink he bent down to retrieve it. But when he opened it and read the contents, a new wash of guilty and confused feelings swept over him.

"_Valon brought this manga back today. He said he really liked it. We have so much in common. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that we're not supposed to be together. But I know it's not to be. Valon has someone else. I can see it in his eyes. And, well, I know I'm really taken as well. Michael will never let me go. He's so jealous. . . . If I ever tried to go with Valon, I'd actually be worried for him. Michael would never leave us alone. I'm afraid I don't doubt that he could be capable of something terrible if his temper got out of control. And I don't want Valon to get hurt. _

_They say if you love something, to set it free. I guess I must really love him then . . . because what I want most is for him to be happy. And I know he won't be until he finds the friends he keeps talking about. Maybe he doesn't realize it, but he's always talking about them. It's so sad, sometimes he dreams about them not really wanting him and beating him. But they must want him back! I can't believe for one minute that they don't care about him. From everything Valon's told me about them, they both sound like they're really good guys at heart, even if they have some rough edges."_

It ended there, abruptly, as if she had been interrupted in her writing and had hastily stuck the paper within the pages of the manga. Valon sank into the couch cushions, still holding the paper and staring blankly at the words Sandy had handwritten. The rain beat down against the outside of the trailer, and the door flapped back and forth in the wind, but the Australian paid no heed to any of that.

* * *

Raphael was sitting alone on the couch, waiting for Hilda to come back and petting the cat, who didn't seem to have a desire to leave him alone. His thoughts were wandering to many things, including his long years of isolation spent on the island, his disgusted views of humanity upon his return, and various incidents from the time spent with Doom. He, also, remembered the time when Alister had found Valon laying hurt after crashing on his motorcycle. What Alister had never told anyone, however—and what Raphael suspected—was that he had gone out in the first place to find Valon because he had been gone so long. 

When Raphael had talked to Alister about it later, the redhead hadn't denied it when the question was posed as to whether he actually had been concerned about Valon, though he hadn't confirmed it either. But, Raphael supposed, that was as close to saying it was so as Alister would admit. He had the feeling that Alister was afraid to be close to people. Even though he was closer to Raphael than he was to Valon, he still only rarely had talked with him.He was aloof and silent, though Raphael had determined that there was a lot of pain behind the mask.

He remembered how lonely he had often been on the island. The first night he had been there, he had been very uneasy, certain that he heard sounds of wild animals prowling about. Eventually he had climbed a tree and struggled to sleep, though it had been almost impossible. That had been when the spirits of the guardian cards had first appeared to him. They had comforted and protected him, easing him into a gentle slumber. After several nights of this, he had finally been able to relax and know that he wasn't alone. Things had been easier after that.

An abrupt and almost incessant ringing of the doorbell brought him back into the present. The butler soon came, muttering various annoyed things, and hauled the door open. In the next instant he gave an exclamation of stunned shock and Raphael immediately looked up and stood, coming to attention when he heard a child's voice.

"Please, Mr. James," the child said, addressing the butler as he was taken into the man's arms, "you've gotta help my friend now! He's all hurt and he was trying so hard to get me here! The mean men shot him! Then his leg got hurt somehow and he can't really walk!" Tears filled the bright eyes, their owner remembering when his rescuer had stumbled and fallen after they had been wandering around for hours. At first he hadn't even been able to get up, but then at last he had managed it and they had resumed their journey.

Then Raphael rushed over, catching the weary form that could stand no longer. He recognized the flipped magenta tresses, the gray eyes—glassy and full of weariness at the moment—and the clothes. "Alister," he muttered softly, almost in disbelief. He had realized that surely the one with the abducted child must be Alister, but that wasn't the same thing as seeing him actually here. He hadn't seen him since they had been returned to their bodies. Now he knew that Alister was alive. And he had been reunited with his friend at last.

As the skinny man's strength gave out, he gave Raphael a look mixed with recognition and disbelief. Pierre was home now. He had gotten him here safely. And he had found one of his friends, somehow. Or maybe it was a delusion brought on by the dizziness and vertigo. At that moment it didn't matter. Alister felt that he could finally surrender to the darkness.


	6. Carry On, My Wayward Son

**Chapter Five**

Raphael leaned over Alister's exhausted form, carefully bathing and cleaning the wounds in the younger man's shoulder. Paulette's personal doctor had been called to examine him and had determined that what the redhead needed most was rest. He would "probably" be alright, he had said, but that "probably" annoyed Raphael. He wasn't fond of probablies. Either Alister would recover or he wouldn't. Raphael wanted a straight answer, he thought, recalling how he had decided to treat Alister's injuries himself.

He smiled slightly, remembering the child Pierre's concern. The boy was telling his mother all about their adventure and how Alister had been wounded more than once while trying to protect him. Hilda was with them, listening, while Raphael wanted time alone with his friend. He had already heard Pierre's story while he had carried Alister's body to the vacant room that Hilda had pointed out to him. It was an easily believable tale. Just as he had known, Alister had risked everything to rescue the child.

Now Raphael began to bandage Alister's shoulder, narrowing his eyes as he recalled how both Hilda and Paulette had reacted when they had come in and seen Alister collapsing into Raphael's arms. Paulette had gasped in alarm at the sight of the stranger—well, two strangers, really, since she hadn't even met Raphael then—and Hilda had called Alister a hoodlum again. Raphael was disgusted. They had no right to address Alister as such, especially after what he had done to protect Pierre and get him home. Just because Alister didn't dress in fancy apparel—and actually had a very strange dress code—it didn't make him a criminal. He, in Raphael's opinion, was one of the only good people in this cruel world.

He sighed, leaning back and sitting on the edge of the bed. Alister looked weary and pale. His leg was sore from where he had fallen on it, but it wasn't broken or badly sprained. Still, it would have hurt to walk on it for so long without rest.

Raphael found himself breathing a quiet prayer for Alister's recovery and for Valon to be found. Perhaps he wasn't the most religious person, but he tried to hold onto a belief in a Supreme Being, as he had been taught as a child. He needed something to believe in. He needed to believe that Someone was in charge and that Someone knew and loved every person. And though he felt that he and his friends and their problems were probably insignificant when compared to the world disasters, there was this other part of him that wanted to believe that they were important and that they did matter. That part of him still kept a seed of faith and convinced him to continue praying in times like these.

He wasn't sure what Valon's thoughts were on the subject of God, as the Australian had never mentioned it, but he knew that Alister had come from a strong religious family. Alister had spoken of it occasionally and had mentioned that his parents often traveled around helping others and building up poverty-stricken towns and villages. They hadn't been dogmatic and forceful, as so many often were, but had instead taught their beliefs through their actions. It had been a much more effective approach, Alister had recalled. He himself, like Raphael, wasn't extremely religious now, but Raphael had the feeling that Alister still held to at least some of what he had been taught as a child.

Slowly Alister's eyes opened and he looked at Raphael blearily, seeing that he was praying. He pondered over this scene as all of his senses completely returned, realizing that he was truly here with his friend. It wasn't a delusion, as he had believed a few moments ago when he had passed into exhausted unconsciousness. Raphael looked the same as ever; he had not changed. Alister managed a weak smile as he saw this. Sometimes no change was a good thing.

Raphael, feeling a gaze upon him, finished his prayer and opened his eyes. He smiled softly when he saw Alister was awake. "It's about time," the blonde commented, referring to his and Alister's meeting.

Alister looked at him and gave a slight smirk. "It is, isn't it." There was no overwhelmingly joyful reunion, but they each knew that they were happy to see the other and that the other was happy to see him. And they were both relieved to find that part of their quest was successfully ended. "I wondered if I would find you alive."

"Likewise." Raphael watched his magenta-haired friend, relaxing when he saw that he seemed alert and that he remembered him. "Your new friend tells me that you've had quite an experience." He pointed at Alister's bandaged shoulder. "You're lucky that bullet didn't get stuck or tear something important. It just went in and out. If you don't put a strain on it, your shoulder will heal quickly."

Alister nodded slowly. That was what he had expected. "Pierre's alright, isn't he?"

"Worried, but fine." Raphael crossed his arms. "What about you, though? How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Alister replied before falling silent, pondering on what was in his mind.

"Valon isn't with you, is he?" If he was, then Alister's quest would be over and they would all be together again. But he wasn't getting his hopes up. The chances of finding both of his friends at once were too impossible.

Raphael shook his head. "He's still missing." He wished that the feisty Australian was with him. Frankly, he worried over where Valon could be. He could even be dead. Though neither he or Alister voiced this thought, they were both thinking it.

Alister tried to raise himself up and lean against the pillows. "Why are you here?" It was strange to have found Raphael in a place such as this. Alister knew that Raphael had come from a rich family, but he also knew that the blonde had no interest in social circles and he didn't think that the older man had any acquaintances in high society. And what were the odds that they would both be at this random mansion at the same time? It seemed almost more than coincidental, as if someone had been working behind the scenes to bring them together.

Raphael grunted. "I suppose we can thank my cousin Hilda for that." He realized now that it had been a blessing that he had met up with her again. Though he had been annoyed over their meeting initially, he knew that it wasn't likely that he would have found Alister today if he hadn't been with Hilda. By a strange twist of events, Alister had wound up with the abducted child of Raphael's cousin's friend and had eventually found his way to the manor where Raphael was currently staying. As Raphael thought back on it now, he also thought that it seemed too incredible to have actually happened by chance.

Alister blinked, but allowed the surprise to pass. "I see," was all he said.

Raphael smirked slightly. "I know. You didn't know I had a cousin." Though Alister probably never would have asked the question, the blonde could tell that the gray-eyed young man was curious.

Alister half-shrugged. "I just assumed that all of your relations were dead," he replied. He glanced briefly around the room, though his interest didn't hold for very long. It was just a room, another temporary one that he would be leaving soon. Already he was planning the next course of action. He and Raphael would have to embark on a search for their still-missing comrade.

"Heh. Well, let's just say I was considered as dead to her. She didn't like me dressing like a 'hoodlum.'" Raphael crossed his arms, spitting the word out bitterly. "If she knew about Doom, she'd probably disown me again."

Alister frowned. "She sounds like a lot of fun," he said sarcastically.

"Oh yeah," Raphael returned. "A joy to be around."

The slight creaking of the door and a child's giggle brought them both to attention, expecting to see Pierre. But what they saw instead completely astounded them both. Three young children were happily playing on the floor with the ragdoll cat, who purred loudly and seemed to enjoy their attention. After a moment all three looked up at Alister and Raphael, smiling brightly.

"Miruko," Alister whispered in disbelief.

"Sonia," Raphael breathed, his blue eyes wide in disbelief. "Julien. . . ."

The children smiled and waved, then were gone as swiftly as they had come, leaving behind the cat and two stunned older brothers. It seemed that perhaps they were quietly saying that, indeed, they had played a part in bringing about this reunion and they had wanted it to take place. The thought was comforting to both Alister and Raphael.

_

* * *

_

_He ran as far and as fast as he could. No matter what it took, he had to get away from that hell on earth. It was just like all the other foster homes he had been in. Neither his "parents" or his "siblings" had cared anything for him. He had just come from a harsh beating. And the boy who had claimed that he wanted to be friends had just stood by and watched, not even trying to plead Valon's case to his father. But Valon had been innocent of any wrongdoing, and that boy had known it. The boy was just looking out for his own safety, not wanting his father to suddenly turn and beat him as well. It seemed that everyone in this world only looked out for themselves._

_The brunette growled to himself in frustration, angrily rubbing the tears away from his eyes. He had been rejected so many times by now that it was an everyday event. He wouldn't go back to that home anymore. And once again he would embark on his struggle to stay away from the social workers who would be looking for him. He was better off without them. They weren't helpful in determining his fate. He could control his own fate much better. The problem was that no one would let him demonstrate that._

_He pressed himself against a brick wall desperately, hearing approaching footsteps. His heart raced with terror and he realized just much he dreaded—no, feared—being taken back. He couldn't even count the number of foster homes he had been in before this. Every one of them had ended in the same way—with him running away to get away from the cruelty and knowing that he was really unwanted._

_But instead of a social worker that came around the corner, it was the leader of a local gang. Valon recognized him from several past encounters that they had had on the streets. The meetings always ended the same way, with Valon in pain on the ground while the brute gloated over his "victory." Valon hated the meetings and he hated his unfair opponent. He knew that if he could just have the chance to learn better fighting skills he could easily defeat this treacherous bully. Then no one would be able to push him around again!_

_The punkish teenager turned to look at Valon and grinned widely in an unsettling way. "Fancy bumpin' into you," he remarked, addressing Valon by the rude name he had chosen to call the younger boy._

_Valon pressed himself against the wall harder, not wanting him to see that he was already badly beaten and weakened. "Yeah, fancy it," he retorted boldly. "What do you want?"_

"_Well. . . ." The bully smirked, getting up right next to Valon's face. The blue-eyed Australian could feel the hot breath on his cheeks. "I just thought you should know that you've wandered onto my gang's territory. The simple truth is, you're trespassing. And you know what we do to trespassers." He cracked his knuckles harshly, enjoying the brief flit of discomfort in his victim's eyes. Torturing Valon was one of his favorite pastimes. He reveled in getting the better of anyone, especially if he knew they were not as strong as he himself._

_Valon clenched his fists. If they were to fight now, he knew he would surely lose once more. But he refused to back down from the challenge. He met everything head-on. To run from a fight, he felt, was cowardly. (He did not consider being violently beaten by his foster families as really a fight. It was the manifestation of human wickedness, and if he would have stopped to think about it, he would have realized that this bully was engaging in the very same actions.) "Bring it on then!" he cried, moving away from the wall._

"_It's your funeral." His opponent lunged forward, delivering a sharp punch to Valon's stomach. The boy gasped, doubling over in pain._

_The fight didn't last very long, especially not in Valon's already weakened condition. Before he realized what was happening, he was laying on the damp ground, badly injured—a cold rain falling down around and over him. The gang leader laughed nastily, kicking the boy in the ribs and asserting that he was, and would always be, the strongest of the two of them. Then he was gone, disappearing into the rain and leaving Valon's battered body behind._

_He stared ahead blankly as he lay on his stomach, too weak to attempt getting up. Blood dripped into his vision, already clouded by the rain, and he wanted desperately to reach up and brush it away—but he was even too weary to accomplish that much. He didn't know what would happen to him now. Maybe social services would find him again. Maybe all of the gang members would come to have their chance at beating him further. Or maybe he would just die here, alone and with no one to care. It wouldn't surprise him. He had always been alone. Why would something happen to change that now?_

_These were his last thoughts before succumbing to the blackness that had already been threatening to engulf him. His body soon went completely limp._

Valon sighed, staring up at the ceiling ofSandy's trailer. Those thoughts were always unpleasant, but he couldn't stop them from coming. And the next memory wasn't so bad. He had regained consciousness in the church with Mary tending to his wounds. She had found him laying in the street as she had been returning from a bit of grocery shopping, and according to her, she had experienced a feeling that she should go down a different road than the one she usually took. She had called it God's will that she had found Valon that cold and rainy night. Valon had scoffed at that, he remembered. God hadn't cared about him for years, he had felt, so why would He suddenly care then? But Mary had been firm in her belief. Over time Valon had grown quite fond of her, considering her to be like the mother he had never had. But then she had been taken from him as well. Dartz had taken her away.

The Australian stood up, shakily replacing Sandy's makeshift journal entry back in the manga. It was still raining outside, reminding him all the more of the night so many years past when he had first met Mary. He wondered what she was doing now. She was probably in the Heaven that she had always spoken of fondly, Valon decided. And yet . . . at times he was certain he still felt her presence close by. If he wanted to believe in guardian angels, he would come to the conclusion that she was his.

"Well . . . here I am, alone again," he said aloud to the empty room, gesturing weakly before dropping his hands to his sides. "And what do I have to show for it?" He had been part of Doom for so many years, capturing souls with the Seal of Orichalcos to further Dartz's plans. Making a new world had sounded good to him. If he hadn't believed in the ideals of the Doom organization, he wouldn't have agreed to join. He had his honor, after all.

He had met his only friends while he was with Doom. But they were Heaven knows where right now. He wanted them to be here. His only other friend was laying in a hospital bed, almost dead after trying to imitate Valon's motorcycle stunts. Valon had told himself that if Sandy got hurt he wouldn't blame himself—but right now his mind didn't seem to be listening to that vow. All he could think of was that if he had never came here in the first place, Sandy wouldn't have gotten injured. He wanted Alister and Raphael to come and give him reassurance that he wasn't at fault and to stay with him during this time of confusion and sadness.

He stared out into the pouring rain glumly. "So . . . where are you fellas?" he mumbled. Often he wondered if they'd forgotten about him. It seemed so long since he had seen Alister and Raphael. Maybe they'd happened to meet up with each other and had decided to stay together since they got along better. Maybe they wouldn't even think of coming to find their comrade.

Valon slammed his fist down on the windowsill. Raphael, at least, would care! For the first time since he had been with Mary, he was certain that another human being cared whether he lived or died. Raphael treated him well and Valon actually felt welcome around him. Alister was more of a mystery—an irritating, much-too-silent mystery—but Valon had slowly begun to feel that Alister cared about him as well, even if it was just as an associate. But then his doubts would start to sink in again and he would question it all.

* * *

Several days passed, during which Sandy made no improvements. Alister, on the other hand, was recovering nicely. After a little over a week, he was certain that his shoulder was healed well enough that he could leave the Martindale manor where he and Raphael had taken up a temporary residence (at Paulette's request). The days had been spent mostly in sharing conversations with Raphael, pondering over the past, and in quietly playing and talking to Pierre, who was delighted to have Alister visit for an extended period of time. Likewise, the ragdoll cat was pleased to have Raphael around to pet and pay attention to her, since normally she only received affection from Pierre and from a couple of the maids. 

Hilda wasn't entirely pleased about Alister staying at the home, as Raphael had found out that she was even more the rich snob than Paulette was. Often he heard the two women arguing over the matter until he felt as if he would simply go mad with anger and frustration. There was no reason for Hilda to be so distraught feeling as though Alister's presence would disrupt both Paulette's and Hilda's own social status. On the contrary, he thought to himself, Hilda should be grateful to Alister, as Paulette was, for bringing Pierre safely home.

One evening about a week and a half after Raphael had been reunited with Alister, the blonde man confronted Hilda in the drawing room about her intense obsession with fame. He stood in the doorway, watching her as she retouched her makeup, and then slowly walked in.

"That's too much," he growled, referring to her endless layers of lipstick and rouge. "You look better with more natural shades." The ragdoll meowed, as if in agreement, and rubbed against Raphael.

"I don't need fashion tips from you," Hilda retorted, obviously still furious over Paulette's latest dismissal of her worries. But really, she thought, whatever would people think of these two ruffians being allowed to stay for so long? Not even Paulette's husband would do anything about it. He seemed to have almost taken a liking to them both.

Raphael came over closer to the couch. "Well, here's a 'tip' for you," he said coldly. "Why don't you just leave Alister alone. If the Martindales figure that it's alright for us to stay here, you should accept that. After all, you're nothing more than a guest here as well. Stop worrying about your precious social record for once." His blue eyes narrowed darkly. "You know . . . you're acting just like you did eight years ago, when you disowned me as your cousin. You haven't changed."

Hilda slammed her compact shut. "Alright," she agreed, "maybe I haven't. I was hoping maybe you had, though I really knew when I first saw you in the lobby of that restaurant that you didn't look as though you had. You looked exactly as you had then, save for being a few years older and a bit more muscular. But you were really still the same punk you were all those years back. You still are." She stood, replacing her makeup case in her purse. "How could you run around with someone like Alister! He dresses like a . . . like I don't know what!"

Raphael had to work very hard to keep a lid on his boiling anger. Usually he was more calm and levelheaded, but Hilda's constant insults were getting to him—and opening old wounds as well. It was as if he was reliving the night eight years previous, only this time it was different in the fact that it was his friend being put down instead of he himself. Of course, though, Raphael felt that any insult to his friend was an insult to him as well. "If all you can see when you look at him are the tank tops and the black jeans, I'm not holding out much hope that you'll ever change," he said at last. "After what Alister did to get that kid back to his family, you should give him more credit."

"Well, I'm sorry!" Hilda shot back, coming to stand in front of him. "But he makes me nervous. And . . . and frankly, so do you!" There, she had said it. She moved back, glaring up into Raphael's icy blue eyes and trying to determine his reaction. "Your parents would roll over in their graves if they could see you now!"

That did it. Raphael snarled furiously and gripped Hilda's shoulders, his gaze boring into her own. "Don't you ever tell me what my parents would be thinking and doing," he snapped in a dangerous, low tone. "You have no right." He knew that his parents _had_ seen him—and Alister too—when their spirits had appeared to him right before he and Alister had returned to their bodies. They had still loved him, as always, and hadn't made any derogatory comments about either his manner of dress or Alister's. Raphael felt certain that they trusted his judgement and that they realized that Alister was a good person. They would approve of the friendships Raphael had with him and with Valon and would be able to see all of them for what they truly were inside.

Hilda struggled under the grip of the strong hands, growing more anxious with each passing moment. Raphael only glared at her with outrage, not making any move to back away. Finally she shoved at him, yelling, "You're hurting me, Raphael!"

Slowly Raphael loosened his grip on her shoulders, allowing her to go. He continued to watch her with disgust and fury—and a bit of sadness as well. It seemed to all be an illusion then. The child he had played with and enjoyed being around was buried underneath this consuming drive to climb the social ladder. There was nothing he could do to dig that child out, not now. Hilda would have to work things out on her own. And Raphael had to be on his way. He and Alister still had one other comrade to find.

In defeat he turned away. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Hilda, rubbing at her shoulders to restore the circulation, barely looked up. "I am too," she replied quietly. "Maybe . . . maybe someday we can meet again and it will be different."

Raphael shook his head as he walked toward the door. "It will never be different for me," he said flatly. "I won't abandon my friends when things get rough, Hilda. I won't abandon them the way you abandoned yours." With that he was gone, leaving a stunned Hilda behind to ponder over his words.

* * *

Valon walked through the trailer park in defeat and depression. Still he hadn't left. When Sandy was laying between life and death, he didn't see at all how he could possibly leave. And so he stayed, enduring the increasing hatred that was breeding against him. Michael had somehow managed to turn almost all of the other bikers against him, telling them various things to make them believe that it truly had been Valon's fault that Sandy had been injured. Valon suspected that Michael wouldn't be above even fabricating that Valon had tampered with Sandy's motorcycle.

He stepped out into the practice area where he had watched Sandy over a week ago, remembering how Michael had spoken to him, making his thinly-veiled threats. Sandy had done her carefully executed stunts and then had came over to them both, wondering what they were talking about. . . .

Valon frowned suddenly, again recalling the accident. It hadn't even occurred to him before, but what if . . . what if Sandy's motorcycle really had been tampered with? What if the "accident" hadn't really been an accident at all? It just didn't seem plausible, though. Who would want to kill Sandy? Valon clenched his fists, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize he was being watched by many unfriendly eyes.

Abruptly a heavy chain swooped out, obviously intended to wrap around the brunette's neck. Hearing the links clinking against each other, Valon turned and dodged just in time. He rolled into the grass, glaring in the direction the chain had come from. "Hey!" he cried. "What's the big idea!" He brushed the dark bangs out of his eyes, squinting into the night to try to determine the identity of the silhouette he could make out—though he suspected it was Michael.

Sure enough, Sandy's beau rode out of the shadows on his motorcycle, the chain held tightly in his hand—but he wasn't alone. The other stunt artists followed right behind him, each one carrying his or her own weapon of choice and each riding his or her motorcycle. Valon backed up, his eyes narrowing. This couldn't be good.

"Sandy's not gonna get better, Aussie," Michael hissed, "and I'm gonna make good on my promise to make you pay for it." He raised the chain again. "You'll be dead before we're done with you!"

Valon watched him, steely-eyed. He could see that nothing would make him change his mind. There was only one thing for a fighter like Valon to do. He stood up straight, meeting Michael's gaze firmly. "Alright then. If that's the way you feel, bring it on."


	7. On My Way Home

**Chapter Six**

The gang allowed Valon less than a minute to find his motorcycle and climb on. After the allotted minute, they declared, if he wasn't on his bike, that was just too bad. But Valon was quick and ready to go within forty-five seconds. He glared at them coldly as he pulled the goggles down over his blue eyes. There was no telling how this would turn out. It wasn't a fair fight. But Valon knew that no matter whether he agreed or not, this fight was going to take place. And so he had opted not to run from it.

"You do realize this is really a duel," Michael's voice came harshly. "And it's all of us against you." The chain snapped in his hand.

Valon clutched the bike's handlebars firmly. "I know exactly what I'm getting into," he replied, "but I'm warnin' you—I've come out on top before when I was fightin' blokes like you." Underestimating him because of his height—or lack thereof—and his young age (he was not yet out of his teens) was a drastic mistake many had made in the past. He was strong and fought fiercely, though he had never engaged in a motorcycle duel before. But he wasn't afraid. What was there to fear? The worst that could happen was that he could die. And that didn't seem like an extremely horrible fate anyway after everything he'd suffered through life.

Michael sneered, riding up next to Valon and promptly striking his cheek with the chain before the Australian could stop it. "This will be different," he said, "and you know it." He could see that Valon wasn't afraid. But he swore he'd change that by the time their mortal combat was at an end. Once Valon was thrust off his motorcycle, it would be easy to strike him repeatedly and kill him.

Valon glared, reaching out and grabbing the chain before he could be struck again. "Oh, it'll be different alright, mate," he agreed calmly before pausing. "But hey . . . do you really think Sandy would want you doing this?" The thought had just occurred to him, but he was certain the answer was No, she would not. She was not a vindictive person and besides, she knew Valon wasn't responsible for her accident.

"Sandy's not here to object," Michael retorted. "She's laying in a hospital bed because of you!" He revved the engine, impatient to begin. With a vicious yank he released the chain of Valon's grip, pulling it back into his own graces.

Valon narrowed his eyes. "And how do you figure that, anyway?" he demanded, even though he knew that he had been blaming himself at times. "It's not like I can help that she wanted to do my stunts." As the words left his lips he realized that they were true. He couldn't hold himself responsible for this. It had been an accident—a tragic accident. No one had been responsible.

"You waltzed into our lives when it would've been better if you'd just stayed away and looked for your precious friends elsewhere," Michael snarled. "I don't care if you were directly accountable or not. Just your presence was bad enough." He waved a paper in Valon's face. "See this? I found it in Sandy's trailer. She was becoming infatuated with you."

Valon's eyes narrowed. He was certain that it must be the same paper he had found in Sandy's manga. "What right do you have to go through Sandy's stuff!" he demanded. "Even if you're her beau, she's entitled to some privacy!" It almost seemed a desecration when he thought about it. Michael could not and would not appreciate Sandy's true spirit. Her writings would be seen as nonsense by him.

"Shut up," Michael hissed. Valon could hear the other motorcycles approaching swiftly from behind. He knew that it would be impossible to attempt reasoning with his nemesis, so he did the only thing he felt he could do under the circumstances—he revved the engine and rode ahead into the arena where Sandy had suffered her accident. After a yelled curse, Michael and the others followed him in.

* * *

Paulette watched regretfully as Raphael gave the ragdoll cat a final stroke. "Are you sure we can't get you to stay any longer?" she asked, already knowing the answer. 

She also knew that the redhead, Alister, was good for Pierre. The child adored him like an elder brother. Right now Alister was being followed by his young shadow down the stairs. Paulette was sad to see the bikers leaving.

Raphael set the cat on the floor. "You've been kind, but we have to go," he replied. "Valon's still unaccounted for. We have to find him." He couldn't believe the difference between Paulette and Hilda. Whereas Hilda was predujiced and selfish, Paulette was actually welcoming and kind. She reminded Raphael of his mother.

Paulette smiled sadly. "You're a good friend," she remarked, "and so is Alister." She watched Pierre tug on Alister's hand and then get gently lifted into the gray-eyed man's arms. "He took such good care of my son. I don't know what we would have done without him." She couldn't understand Hilda's dislike of either one of them. They were both honest, good people, and frankly, Paulette found that they had better morals than many of those on her own social level. Hilda should be proud that Raphael was her cousin.

Raphael crossed his arms, giving a slight smile. "He has a certain way with kids," he said. "He's always loved them."

Alister reached the bottom of the stairs, still holding the child close. "It's time for us to go now," he said quietly to Pierre.

The boy had known that the two bikers would be leaving, but still he had dreaded it. He didn't want Alister to leave, and he looked at his friend with sad eyes as he expressed this.

"I know," Alister replied kindly, "but we still have another friend to find. You wouldn't want us to not look for him, would you? He might be in trouble." He smiled, ruffling Pierre's hair while holding him with his other hand. He was still favoring his left arm, even though he could use his injured one. But he didn't want to put too much pressure on it too soon.

"No," Pierre sniffled, "you should find him. If he's your friend, he's gotta be nice." He hugged Alister tightly. "You'll come visit, right?"

"Of course," Alister reassured him, returning the embrace. "And I'll write as well. Your mother can read my letters to you." Now he gently set the child on his feet, knowing they had to be on their way. Raphael had at last discovered a possible lead to Valon's location. The trailer park belonging to a group of biker stunt artists was a good place to continue their search. It wasn't far away—only a couple of towns or so.

In the article Raphael had found, it had told of a serious accident that one of the members had recently suffered. At first he and Alister had been afraid that it had been Valon, but then they had found out that it had been a female who had been hurt. But in any case, Valon could get injured as well. His friends thought it important to find him immediately. Since they were both able to leave, they saw no reason to prolong their departure any longer.

The duo walked outside and to their motorcycles parked in the long driveway. Raphael had retrieved them out of storage yesterday. Two weeks ago he had found them both near a building that had been used as another branch of the Doom organization. He had found this odd, as he didn't remember leaving his vehicle there, and he had started to worry then wondering if Alister was alright. How the bikes got there was still a mystery to them both.

As they climbed onto their motorcycles, they looked back to the Martindales as they said their goodbyes. Hilda, Raphael, noted, was not there. But she was watching silently from her room in the manor, thinking thoughts that only she and God were aware of.

Perhaps she regretted seeing Raphael leaving. Perhaps she wished that she could accept him with open arms as her cousin, whether he was part of the high-brow social scene or not. Maybe she even wished she could see Alister as more than just a hoodlum with a strange dress code. But right now, she knew she could not. _Maybe someday. . . ._

* * *

Valon flew over one of the ramps, gunshots going off over his head. It suddenly dawned on him that he really had no idea what he was supposed to do or how he would win this. Perhaps, if everyone else wiped out, then he would be the winner by default. But that wasn't likely to happen. Already he had been chased around the arena for nigh unto ten minutes. No one had fallen yet. It seemed hopeless. But he refused to give up. If he just had enough time to think of something clever. . . . 

He heard a crash behind him. Apparently one of the others hadn't quite made it over the ramp. But there were plenty of others to take that one's place. He barely managed to swerve to the side as someone threw a knife.

Then another bike was stopped right in front of Valon's path. With a vile curse the rider sneered behind his helmet, certain that Valon would not be able to avoid hitting him unless he wound up crashing. And indeed, he nearly did. Again Valon struggled to swerve away, in the process nearly colliding with another motorcycle and clipping its side mirror off. As the other biker tipped over, a third came up from behind Valon and struck him hard with a crowbar between his shoulder blades. The brunette gasped in pain, leaning forward over the handlebars and gripping them tightly as he struggled desperately to keep hold of his concentration.

That was when the front tire was struck by another bullet. At the speed Valon was going, he was immediately thrown from it and wound up rolling across the ground several times over. Dazedly he was aware of the sounds of the other bikes starting to gather around him. When he was finally to the point where he could sit up again, they were all circling around him. Every now and then one would start to break from the circle and Valon would be certain that it was about to hit him, but then it would turn around and starting going around him in the other direction. This continued until half were going one way and the other half the opposite, leaving Valon no hope of escape.

"Perfect," Michael sneered as a few early snowflakes began to fall. Michael was among those in the inner circle and now felt that it was the ideal time to strike for real. Valon was completely on guard, never knowing when someone would try to hit him but being sure it would happen. Now Michael would make certain that it did.

Just as he was about to break out of the slowing cycle of motorbikes, two new engines brought him and all of the others to attention. For one moment they all quelled their motors, watching in stunned shock as two mysterious vehicles came flying into the arena via the ramp—one red, one black—and stood proudly amid the swirling snow, their riders silent and ominous.

Valon stared as well, his blue eyes wide. This was something he couldn't comprehend. All of the gang was here already, so these newcomers couldn't be part of it. But were they here to help the gang, to help Valon, or for something else? "Who are you!" he called loudly as the same time Michael asked the question. The motorcycles were starting to break formation, intrigued by the appearance of the new bikers and all wanting to know what was wanted. Perhaps this was a problem they would have to deal with before Valon could be eliminated.

They received no answer at first. Michael growled, seeing their silence, and then prepared to rev his engine and advance on Valon. "You're interrupting some private business," he hissed at the strangers. "We were just taking out the trash."

Now the one on the black motorcycle spoke, his voice muffled by the dark helmet. "Leave him alone." Valon could see, even in the dim light, his muscular appearance. The one on the red motorcycle was very skinny, though obviously healthy—and obviously also a male. The brunette's eyes widened again, wondering if it was at all possible that. . . .

His thoughts were cut short by Michael's angry voice. "Get them!" he yelled. Instantly his cohorts lunged forward on their bikes, certain that all of them could outsmart these two problems. But they weren't expecting the fight they got.

Another wielding a chain shot out at the skinny one, but he caught the end in a gloved hand and pulled hard as he speeded forward, causing the other biker to cry in surprise and crash onto the ground. Then the victorious rider on the red motorcycle swerved to the right, startling an opponent holding a heavy crowbar.

As Michael tried to run Valon down, the Australian jumped out of the way and turned to run in another direction, idly wondering if he could grab a felled motorcycle and use it temporarily. When a hard, heavy rock collided with his back he cried out and stumbled, tripping over a bike and crashing to the ground. Then Michael was upon him again, swinging the chain to catch and restrain him until the red motorcycle was in his way. The chain, already in flight, wrapped around the skinny biker and threw him off his moving vehicle. Valon watched in alarm as the young man went flying, only to crash down hard on the ground a yard or so away, losing his helmet. The flipped magenta hair was instantly recognizable.

"Alister!" Valon screamed, paling when his friend didn't get up. One of the other bikers was already riding over to investigate the unwelcome stranger's condition. Knowing that no good would come of that, and wanting to repay Alister for what he had just suffered while trying to save him, Valon leaped on the red motorcycle himself and threw his pocketknife expertly, slashing the back tire of the enemy biker's vehicle. With an angry yell he toppled to the ground.

Before Valon could manage to ride over to Alister and find out if he was alright, another motorcycle suddenly crashed into him from the side, causing him to spill onto the ground once more. Then Michael was advancing, a cruel smirk gracing his features. Not only was he holding his chain, but Valon was certain he saw a gun and a knife in the man's possession. One way or another, Michael planned that Valon would die.

Now the muscular newcomer rode straight through an astonished cluster of the stunt artists, grabbing a revolver from one before she could do a thing about it. He then pointed this at Michael warningly as he approached. "Get on," he ordered Valon, who quickly complied and scrambled on in front of the much taller, bigger man. As Michael shot out with his own chain to fell the gun, his new nemesis struck the metal with a bullet, deterring it long enough for them to get out of range.

Valon looked up at him. "Raph?" he demanded, though he was already positive of his rescuer's identity. He gripped at the center part of the handlebars, again turning his thoughts to worrying about Alister. He had been laying so still. . . .

"Who did you think it was?" was the reply. Then Raphael hissed in pain, feeling a sharp prick in his back. He had just been stabbed with Michael's knife. Almost losing his concentration, he veered the motorcycle to the left.

"Raph!" Valon cried again, more urgently. He hadn't missed that hiss of pain. Raphael had been injured.

"It's nothing," Raphael replied, gritting his teeth as the small weapon remained buried in his flesh. He couldn't possibly stop to remove it right now. They were being pursued by the rest of the gang. Idly he wondered if they really would be able to get away.

The welcome sound of police sirens was the answer. Instantly the enemy motorcyclists panicked, scattering in all directions. Michael cursed in anger, watching his army leaving him, and then gave Valon a dark deathglare as he and Raphael both stopped their vehicles. "This isn't over, Aussie," he threatened. "Not by a long shot."

Valon glared right back. "We won't be seein' each other again any time soon," he replied, "'cept in court, when you get tried for attempted murder!" His accent was always thicker and more noticeable when he was outraged—and right now he was extremely furious.

Raphael reached behind himself, carefully pulling the knife free from his flesh. He discovered that it was merely a pocketknife, though still highly painful. His blood dripped from the blade and onto the ground below, coloring it crimson.

Valon stared in horror. "That's nothing!" he gasped as the police began rounding up the gang members. Another cornered Michael. The dreadful experience was over, but Valon wondered if he and his friends would be coming out of it relatively unscathed.

Raphael threw the knife into the dust. "Yeah," he assured Valon. "I'll take care of it after we find Alister. Where is he?" He removed his helmet, studying Valon with the familiar ice-blue eyes. But Valon could see many emotions flitting through those eyes, including concern for Alister and relief that Valon was safe.

"Over there," Valon replied quietly, pointing to where he had last seen the redhead. "Michael threw him off his chopper and he crashed on the ground. . . ." He swallowed hard. Alister should have gotten up, unless he'd hit his head on a rock or something like that. . . .

"Over here now," a voice spoke up from behind them. Both quickly turned to find Alister standing there, rubbing at his head. "Do you mind telling us what we just saved you from?" he asked, his gaze falling on Valon.

"Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do!" Valon snapped in reply, climbing off Raphael's motorcycle to stand in front of the lanky redhead. "You know, I was actually worried about you!" He poked Alister in the chest with his forefinger.

Alister looked back calmly. "Raphael and I were concerned about you as well," he replied, "or we wouldn't have come." He continued to rub at his head. Indeed, he had hit his head on a rock, though not seriously. But the pain was irritating him.

Valon stopped, forgetting whatever retort he had been preparing to make, and just blinked at Alister, realization sweeping over him. It was true. They had been concerned. They had come for him, just as he had been longing and praying that they would! And in that moment Valon knew that he had two people that he could always trust and rely on. He looked from Alister to Raphael, sobered. They had both risked their lives for him and had sustained injuries in the process. They were true friends.

"Thanks, fellas," he said softly, though he knew that "thank you" was vastly inadequate.

Raphael grunted. "Go find a spare tire to put on your motorcycle," he directed, "and then we can get out of here." After all, there were plenty of bikes around to obtain a spare from. Their owners would hardly miss them, where they were going.

Valon frowned at him. "You're still bleedin'," he retorted. "We're not gonna go anywhere till that's taken care of." He paused, thinking. "Look, my trailer's right around close. Let's go unwind for a bit and exchange escapades or somethin'." He knew that Alister and Raphael must have had some strange experiences, including meeting up in the first place. Valon was highly curious to know what had taken place.

"But first," Raphael said as an officer approached, obviously wanting to know the bikers' side of things, "we still have some other business to take care of."


	8. Epilogue

**Notes: Thanks to everyone who's been following this story! I was considering extending it, but since its purpose was only to reunite the bikers, I decided that extending it would be anti-climatic. XD; But maybe there will be a sequel in the future that will tell what happened to them immediately after this fic ends and contain flashbacks to how their searches went before the opening of this fic. We shall see! **

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* * *

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**Epilogue**

_He wandered down an uninhabited street, frowning at the darkness and the absence of most light. He was back home in France, but everything looked different now. It didn't feel like home. The manor that had belonged to his family had long ago been sold and now belonged to someone else, perhaps someone more like Hilda. Perhaps Hilda herself. Everything was ritzy and high-class. And, just as he had when he had been at the restaurant, Raphael felt out of place._

_Before he quite realized it, he found himself at the cemetery, kneeling in front of his family's graves. First was his father's, then his mother's, then little Sonia's and Julien's. They were all just as he had left them years before, save for the weeds that had grown up and the light dusting of snow covering each lonely headstone. With a frown Raphael reached out, ripping the weeds away and clearing off the snow._

_The crunching of snow behind him caused him to whirl around, his eyes narrowed coldly. Dartz was standing before him, looking the way Raphael had always remembered him—only now he no longer saw an enigmatic leader. He saw Dartz now as a cruel hypocrite, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to bring forth Leviathan._

"_Well, I see you're visiting your family," the unwelcome spectre remarked, crossing his arms. "Do you still blame yourself, Raphael? Do you still believe that if you had only been able to grab hold of Sonia's hand, you could have at least saved her and perhaps Julien as well?" The mint-haired man took several steps forward, but Raphael rose and prevented him from coming closer by grabbing the front of his robe._

"_Leave me alone," he growled. "You're not real. You're just a figment of my imagination." He glared furiously into Dartz's turquoise and gold eyes with his own blue orbs, aflame with righteous indignation and outrage._

_Dartz smirked at him, the dagger again appearing in his hand. "If I'm not real, how can this be really happening to you?" He shoved it into Raphael's chest. "I already killed both of your families. And since you are no longer useful to me, you will die now as well."_

_The blonde man let go of Dartz to rip the weapon away. "I'm not going to let you get to me any more," he said coldly. "You haven't killed my second family and you'll never get the chance." He threw the knife into the snow._

Raphael started awake, looking around the small trailer where he had somehow dozed off. Valon was asleep on a bed that came out from the wall, his arm hanging over the edge. He mumbled in his sleep, clutching at the pillow. Alister was stretched out on the couch, silent, Miruko's action figure held in his hand as he slept. Raphael himself had somehow fallen asleep on the normal bed. Valon had given his friends the more comfortable places to sleep, Raphael knew. The bed in the wall barely had any cushioning at all and probably felt like a wooden board, though Valon insisted that it was enjoyable to lay on.

Raphael shifted position, being careful not to disturb the wound on his back. The police interviews, which had taken place here in the trailer, had seemed to have taken eons to complete. The officer had agreed that they could wait till tomorrow for the trio to come into the station and make a statement, however. There was enough against Michael and the others to keep them in jail for the time being, and it was likely that they would eventually end up in prison for their actions.

After the police had left, Valon had demanded to know Raphael's and Alister's stories. They already knew most of his now, due to his having to relay it to the policeman. But the three friends talked into the night, telling of the various things that had happened to each of them and finally all falling into their peaceful slumbers. Or relatively peaceful. . . .

Raphael frowned, thinking back on his dream. It had been very strange and disconcerting, but not horrifying and alarming as many of his others had been. It seemed more like a dream symbolizing closure. He had found the other two now and they were alive and safe. Any hidden fears about their deaths could be put away. He still despised Dartz and felt betrayed by him—and was certain that he would always feel that way—but he knew that the man could trouble him no more in his dreams and thoughts if he refused to allow it.

Before he quite knew what had happened, he had drifted back to sleep. This time his dreams were quite calm and pleasant.

* * *

The three former Doom soldiers slept peacefully the rest of the night, eventually each one dreaming of the loved ones whom Dartz had taken away from them. All of them reassured the bikers that they were still loved and cared about and that they had all played their parts in bringing the three of them together again. Alister, Valon, and Raphael all awoke quite refreshed and ready to face whatever was thrown at them.

The day was already off to a good start, but a phone call for Valon made it that much better. Sandy had regained consciousness and was asking for him! He was able to speak to her on the telephone for several moments, in the end promising to come right up and visit her and that he would bring Alister and Raphael along with him to meet her. Sandy was ecstatic. And as Valon hung up the phone, he felt as if the last great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Sandy was going to recover. Valon would be able to go off wherever he and the other two wished, knowing that Sandy would be alright. She had a home she could return to, she had told him, and she was happy to know that he did as well. Though she was alarmed and saddened to hear of what Michael and the other stunt artists had done (she had learned it from the news), she wasn't surprised.

Valon's thoughts began to wander now. He had experienced many strange dreams during the night, but one particularly stood out at this point.

_As before, he was being beaten by Alister and Raphael while Mary stood by and made her harsh, cruel comments. And as before, he was not able to defend himself. But this time, as Raphael was about to deliver the final blow, he suddenly fell to the floor. Alister soon followed suit. Stunned, Valon slowly looked up for the source of this oddness._

_Before him stood one more Alister and one more Raphael. His mouth dropped open in complete disbelief._

_Alister lowered his shades. "Imposters are so irritating," he muttered, reaching out a hand to help Valon up. Raphael followed suit. Obviously they had rendered the others unconscious._

_Valon stared at them both and then at the ones on the floor. "'Imposters'?!" he repeated. "They were fakes?!" He looked over at Mary and found her being frowned at sternly by a second Mary._

"_Of course," Raphael said, raising an eyebrow._

"_You didn't really think we hated you, did you?" Alister asked._

_Valon continued to stare, feeling a bit ashamed and foolish now. "Well. . . . I kinda wondered," he admitted softly. "I mean . . . they looked like you . . . and sounded like you. . . ." But they offered no condemnation. At last Valon told hold of their hands and was helped to his feet._

_The second—the true—Mary came over to him now, smiling gently. Though she spoke not a word, her eyes were kind and told Valon that she was immensely grateful that he had loyal friends. _

Valon smiled slightly. It was true—Alister and Raphael had not denounced him. On the contrary, they had come to rescue him the previous night. He wasn't even sure he would be alive if they hadn't intervened. He had gotten himself into quite the disaster, he knew. But his friends had come through for him.

* * *

After fixing a new tire on Valon's motorcycle, the trio had breakfast at a café that was just up the road and then were on their way to see Sandy, who was in very good spirits when they arrived. She found that Alister and Raphael were exactly the way she had pictured that they would be—perhaps a bit outwardly rough, but the most loyal friends that Valon could hope for.

"I'm so happy for you, Valon," she whispered sincerely, reaching out to give him a goodbye hug when they were going to leave. "They're truly wonderful people."

Valon returned it, smiling slightly himself. "Yeah, well," he murmured low, "they're not bad." _And they're family. I belong with them._

They stayed for several moments longer, until Sandy's family arrived—having just flown in from Europe, finally having been found after a long and discouraging search. They were pleasant people, reminding Raphael a bit of Paulette and her husband, and Valon felt at ease leaving Sandy in their care.

* * *

"Well, fellas," Valon spoke as they walked out into the softly falling snow after making their reports at the police station, "it's been over a month." Of course he meant it was over a month since they had been returned to their bodies after Doom was disbanded. The others realized this instantly. "Kinda odd to think about, isn't it."

"What is?" Raphael asked flatly. "Doom?"

Valon shrugged. "Yeah . . . all of it. I mean, who'd have thought that we'd end up still being together when it was all over?" _I didn't even know if you'd still want me. _"I sure as heck didn't."

The other two were silent, as was customary, but they pondered over Valon's words. It was true that none of them had really thought that they would be able to continue staying together. Over the month that they had been searching, they had wound up encountering endless strange and odd things and rarely finding any clues to the others' whereabouts. They had gone through bouts where they didn't know if the others were even alive or if they would even still be wanted if they were. But in the end, they had all been brought together again.

"So. . . ." Valon's Australian voice broke the silence again. "Where do we go from here?"

The trio exchanged looks. It was true that they actually had no idea where they would wind up settling down to start their new lives. They could stay somewhere on the continent where they currently were or else go overseas, though that was unlikely to happen.

"We'll figure it out," Raphael replied at last as they climbed on their motorcycles.

Valon glanced over at Alister, who was still quiet and seemed lost in thought. "You never change, do you?" the brunette remarked.

Alister grunted. "No," he replied. But something about him had changed—he had allowed himself to care about some of humanity again. He had opened his heart, almost without his realizing it, and had accepted Valon and Raphael as his family. This was what he was pondering on now—and a strange dream he remembered having the previous night.

_He had gone home. Oh, it wasn't much of a home anymore. They were still picking up the pieces from the war and things weren't stable even yet. It wasn't a safe place to live and no one was moving in. Alister seemed to be the only one walking down the lonely streets. He remembered how it had once been. He remembered how the town had been before the fighting had torn it apart. And he remembered his own dear family and how they had died._

_The buildings were just skeletons now, shadows of their former selves. Alister approached the one that he was certain had once been his home, placing a hand on the crumbling wood and being careful not to get a splinter in his flesh. It was so lonely now, and desolate. . . . But yet he could still hear the sounds of the past—his parents dancing to big band music after dinner . . . Miruko's innocent laughter. . . . The bombs . . . the screams of terror and death. . . . Alister clenched his fist, turning away._

"_Hey!"_

_He turned at the sound of the voice. Valon was approaching, with Raphael in tow, and the Australian looked confused._

"_So . . . what is this place, anyway?"_

_Alister looked away, studying the broken structure. "It used to be home," he replied emotionlessly, though many emotions were going through his heart and soul at the moment._

"_Not much of a home now," Valon remarked, stepping carefully over a plethora of scattered debris. Raphael frowned, giving Valon a warning look in regards to his comment._

_But Alister didn't seem upset. "No," he agreed, "not now. But once. . . ." He trailed off, deciding not to finish his thought. Slowly he walked inside what was left of his home. He was standing in the living room, he supposed, though it could hardly be recognized now. The last day of Miruko's life, the brothers had been in this very room as the ceiling had caved in around them. And Alister almost fancied that he saw his brother run across the floor, his innocent laugh echoing throughout the room._

"_Hey, Alister. . . ." The redhead started as a rough hand was laid on his shoulder, then another. Both Valon and Raphael had ventured in to offer some sort of comfort. "You've got a home again now, you know," Valon announced._

"_Well said," Raphael said gruffly._

_Alister looked down at him, then over at Raphael. Slowly he smiled. _

Now the redhead slowly removed his sunglasses, reaching for his helmet. He gave Valon a thoughtful look as he adjusted the strap. Maybe someday he actually would tell the brunette how he had saved his life. Someday . . . but not now. This, Alister felt, was not the time or place.

"We could try Domino City," Valon spoke up, pulling his goggles down over his eyes.

Raphael looked over at him. "That's where the nameless Pharaoh lives," he remarked. There would be so many memories in Domino and doubtless, those they knew there would not be pleased at their arrival. But . . . Domino wasn't that far from their current location. Perhaps within a few days they would arrive there. Maybe it would be worth a try. There was no reason why they had to associate with their former enemies. Certainly that would be better for all concerned.

"And Wheeler," Alister put in.

"And Kaiba," Valon added.

They looked at each other and shrugged. They had no reason to fight against those individuals. Surely they could all co-exist peacefully in the same city. Most likely no one would even realize that they had moved in.

"Let's try it and see what happens," Raphael said finally.

And so the three bikers rode off, preparing to begin the next chapters in the books of their lives. Their heartaches and pain weren't completely erased, nor indeed, perhaps never could entirely be. But if they pressed forward as a family, they would be able to support and help each other, no matter the disagreements they might have. And they would persevere and triumph.


End file.
